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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117298">all this and nothing more</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameliae/pseuds/cameliae'>cameliae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>all this [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(kind of), Aiden is an arsehole i love him, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxious Jaskier | Dandelion, Blow Jobs, Depressed Jaskier | Dandelion, Exhibitionism, Getting Back Together, Hurt Aiden (The Witcher), M/M, Misunderstandings, No beta sorry, Panic Attacks, Pining Aiden (The Witcher), Post-Break Up, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, anyway im very bed at tagging sorry, breakdowns, i don't know why i wrote this but i felt the urge so here i am</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:47:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameliae/pseuds/cameliae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“You're here for that child's parent's contract about a wolf.”<br/>“That girl thinks it's a werewolf. And she's godsdamn right about that, at least.” the Witcher eyes at him through long, thick lashes. His eyes are of a strong yellow, they almost glow in the timid light of the torches. There is smudged kohl decorating his lids, it makes them bigger and more feline. They are like a black cat's. “She's wrong about you, you don't seem funny at all. You have no instruments with you, and I am not hearing a single song danced in miles. You're boring,” he grimaces, then, “And depressed. You're depressing me.”</i><br/> </p><p>A Witcher he doesn't know arrives in Corvo Bianco. He's mean and cruel, but he wants to get rid of the ghosts haunting Jaskier - even if they are haunting him the same in a different way. Strangely, Jaskier finds comfort in a presence that reminds him so much of Geralt - and yet, it never seems to be enough.<br/>(can be read as a stand alone)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aiden &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Aiden/Jaskier | Dandelion, Aiden/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>all this [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Aiden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>believe me, i had not this planned when i wrote "All this and more." (that fic should have been a!! simple!! pwp!!) and yet, here we are! with a very sad plot that it's only in jaskier's mind, lolz. and also, i felt the urge so much to write a lambden with aiden pining so hard, and here we are! i had to cut the fic in two, because it was going to be so, so long. also, this is not a yennefer hate fic, there is not a single witcher character that i hate that is not stregobor, so worry not.<br/>it can be read as a stand alone, there is just jaskier and lambert relationship worth of knowing but it can be understood the same.<br/>anyway, as always, sorry for the mistakes! i have no beta and i have too many languages in my head it's so difficult to think with just one like common people.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Jaskier comes back to their – <em>his, no one's</em> – winery in Corvo Bianco, everything seems to be dead. After abandoning his belongings on the steps in front of the front door, he cautiously walks until he reaches the back garden, where his bench is already covered in weed and dirt after only six moons where Jaskier has left this place, to go walk the Path again, eager to sing in taverns and waiting for the first snowflakes to fall, so he could reach Kaer Morhen for the first time to pass the frigid winter the Witcher's keep, as he always dreamed to do.</p><p>Who would have guessed that, instead, he's going to pass the upcoming winter alone, in an empty house. By Yuletide, Jaskier just hopes not to lose his mind as he tries to survive.</p><p>Getting closer, Jaskier notices that his bench is covered mostly in moss and some bird's shit, and Jaskier can't help but think that he feels the same as his bench. He remembers the hot summers passed laying on it, sunbathing under the blazing sun of Toussaint, always ready to hear the minimum movement around him, always waiting for Geralt to join him in his everyday idleness, always, always his entire being revolving around Geralt.</p><p>And now, what remains?</p><p>Jaskier blinks away the dryness from his eyes, and turns around. He's not really ready to get inside the house alone – he never would have expected that, no matter what would have happened, he always thought he'd step through the doorstep hand in hand with Geralt, as he always had, always receiving his support even when he needn't it, a secure warmth next to him.</p><p>And yet, when he finally opens the door, only silence welcomes him. He feels surprised, for a second – for a second, for a stupid second he thought Geralt would be there, ready to swipe him into his arm and beg for forgiveness, explaining himself that it was only a silly misunderstanding and that nothing, no one, would ever separate them. But it seems, no one that is not a powerful, immortal, stunningly beautiful sorceress with violet purple eyes and a seductive mean sneer. Really, Jaskier can't even blame Geralt: if he wasn't already so maddeningly in love with the Witcher, he would have fallen for her too.</p><p>Hell, if only he wasn't so fucking terrified of that trice damned sorceress, he would have started to love them both. It would have been fine, Jaskier knows! As long as he was loved by Geralt, he wouldn't have minded sharing.</p><p>Sad that Geralt doesn't think the same.</p><p>Jaskier doesn't blame Geralt, though. He can't find in himself the strength to be mad, crazily furious at his love – <em>ex–love</em>, and isn't it a painful thought – because he knows that it's not really Geralt's fault. It's no one's fault, really. No person can foresee a love at first sight, no matter how much they already committed themselves, and it's useless shouting, screaming at the unfairness, stomping feet on the floor, nothing would change.</p><p>Jaskier steps forwards, registering barely the dust collected on the furniture and on the floor. He hopes that the bed in the guest room isn't too much of a mess, because he has no intention of doing anything if not laying in a bed, cocooning around blankets and stay there for the rest of the day. For the rest of the <em>month</em>. Does it matter? No one's home, so for what reason should he get up.</p><p>Their – <em>his, no one's</em> – bedroom is out of questions. He will never put his foot in there for the rest of his life, probably.</p><p>He sighs and grimaces at the sight on the dark guest room. Usually, he would never lay on a bed covered in a layer of dust, but he's so tired right now, after travelling for months and crossing almost the entire Continent, alone and afraid, that he doesn't care. “Shit,” he mumbles, grabbing the blankets, “What will become of me?”</p><p>He weakly shakes the blankets so the most of the dust is now flying in the air like snow, then he takes off his battered boots and stumbles up the bed. He hugs the pillow, just for feeling less alone, and closes his aching, dry as a desert eyes. He doesn't cry. He did not, and he won't, if he has any say in this – it's not worth it, crying will not bring Geralt back, but just terrible headaches.</p><p>Still, he waits. As he always did on that bench for Geralt to join him, he now waits for Geralt to find him home. He's always been foolish dreamer.</p><p>There is nothing much to do in an empty house.</p><p>He passed three days in the bed, mostly sleeping, never dreaming nor eating, drinking Geralt's wine, ignoring the knocks at his door – Geralt would never knock, after all. He didn't even get up to take a piss, doing it in a chamber pot only when his belly couldn't take anymore. On the fourth day, the smell started to become unbearable, so he, with a sigh, forced himself to get up and clean the room and himself.</p><p>After that, he finds himself looking at the white walls surrounding him, with nothing to do. He starts with opening the curtains of the windows, letting the strong light of the sun inside the house. He doesn't look at the view outside the windows, he doesn't want to care about the vineyards Geralt has left in the care of the villagers moons ago and in what state are they. He cleans the kitchen, with half a thought occupied in wanting to prepare something for dinner that he will never eat. He sips wine with an empty stomach, and yet he doesn't even get drunk.</p><p>It's so unfair.</p><p>He dusts off the couch and falls on it like a dead weight. He looks around, at the coals laying in the fireplace, the stained carpet that was like a second – a third – bed for as much time as they fucked and cuddle on it, at the various useless trinkets settled on shelves that Jaskier adored at it still would, of only they didn't bring memories at their only sight.</p><p>“Coming here wasn't a great idea...” he whispers at no one. It won't be long before he starts to talk to himself. Loneliness does this kind of things, after all, and Jaskier has never coped well with it. “Maybe it was better if I went to Oxenfurt instead.”</p><p>And yet, he can't help but <em>wait. </em>He ran away from that inn's room like a thief, after all, without as much as a goodbye – in his defense, watching Geralt's back disappearing behind a closing door to a room where his sorceress was waiting was enough of a goodbye, if you ask him. Even if Geralt begged him to stay there, to not move, Jaskier couldn't. He feels a bit guilty about this, but he couldn't– he just– he just couldn't. An end is an end, and Geralt has been enough clear with his words for Jaskier to understand that he, after all, wasn't very welcomed there.</p><p>He passes from the bed to the couch, laying on it in a fetal position, dry eyes staring at a bigger stain on the carpet that it might be his or Geralt's come, or maybe spilled wine. Or maybe Eskel or Lambert's sperm from last summer, when he met them for the first time.</p><p>Gods, how he wishes to turn back time. He was so happy. They were so happy.</p><p><em>Were they</em>?</p><p>He'll never see Eskel and Lambert ever again, that's for sure. And he will never meet Vesemir, he has to resign himself in only imagining the older Witcher by the stories he heard from Geralt and his brothers. He knew, somehow, that returning to the Path would have brought pain and suffering, but he never thought of– he never– fucking <em>hell</em>.</p><p>Someone at the front door knocks, as it's done for the past three days, and Jaskier knows that it's probably one of the townsfolk coming to give him a welcome back, and ask questions – too many, invasive questions that Jaskier isn't ready to answer and he will probably never be.</p><p>Regardless of the turmoil inside his head and chest, he goes to open the door slowly, with a calm he is not feeling at all. There is one of the men's working in the vineyard, and an elder woman with a warm package in her frail hands. He doesn't let them enter, and Jaskier feels a bit bad for his lack of hospitality, but he doesn't have the force. He wants to be alone, even if he doesn't really want that.</p><p>“We are happy you're back, master bard!” the man bows slightly, taking off his hat and bringing it against his chest. “The others came here these days but no one answered them.”</p><p>“I've been... busy.” Jaskier lies, as the elder woman hands him the package. From it, a lovely sweet scent comes and immediately his mouth starts salivating. It's been days since he ate more than a slice of bread a day – sometimes nothing at all – that's why his traitorous stomach starts rumbling.</p><p>“Oh, yeah. That's what we said to the others.” the man clears his throat, “And the master Witcher? The others and me wanted to let him know about the wine–”</p><p>“He's not here.”</p><p>“Oh, and where–”</p><p>“I don't know,” Jaskier swallows the sudden lump in his throat, but still, his eyes remain dry. “I'm so sorry, but I need to go now, there's a lot to do, and the house needs to be cleaned, and I still have to prepare dinner, and...” he trails off, already closing the door in their confused faces, “Thank you for the, the gift, very much appreciated.”</p><p>When the door's closed, Jaskier puts his back against it and slides to the floor, breathing deeply. He doesn't want to have a breakdown, or a panic attack, or anything of the sorts – not over a broken heart, for fuck's sake, he's stronger than this. But still, Gods, it's still too early.</p><p>He looks down at his lap, where the package lays, warming his belly. He opens it with trembling fingers and inside there's a steaming, delicious pie.</p><p>After months of dry eyes and swollen heart, Jaskier finally hiccups and starts to cry.</p><p> </p><p>Done with the crying, and the disgusting mess he made of his sleeves with snot and tears, he feels slightly better. Lighter. He has now the expected headache, but other than that, he starts to breathe more easily than he's ever done these past months. The pie has gone bad, abandoned in a shelf in the unused kitchen, untouched even though Jaskier could smell the fantastic sweet flagrance every time he passed near it. Until it rot, that is.</p><p>But still, he feels better. He ignores the wine, and he keeps himself hydrated – when he remembers, at least. He eats more, and more regularly – when he doesn't sleep, at least. He's fine, he's gonna be fine: it's not the first time he heals from heartbreak. Right, it's the first time that <em>the love of his life</em> breaks up with him, but he's gonna get better. He needs to believe it.</p><p>The townsfolk stop asking him Geralt's whereabouts after a while, probably noticing that the Witcher isn't an argument he's willing to have. But as long as they don't mention Geralt and trigger one of his bad moments, they are even welcomed in his house to talk about nothing in particular just like the good old days, and he feels slightly less alone.</p><p>After a couple of weeks, Geralt still hasn't come. Jaskier guesses that, at this point, he never will.</p><p>He doesn't take care of the winery, leaving it completely in the townsfolk's hands. He doesn't clear the back garden, nor his favourite bench, he doesn't use it so it's not worth the bother. He doesn't perform in the tavern down the village, nor he sings anymore. He didn't check, but he's pretty sure that he has left his songbook in Roach's saddlebag – and anyway, it was full of lovesongs written in it, so he surely doesn't need it right now.</p><p>One morning, a little girl knocking at the door wakes him up. She has bread in her slim arms and a big smile on her baby face. She hands him the bag greeting him with a cheerful voice – the townsfolk's got used to his bad mood, lately, so they usually send children at his door. They know that he cannot stay gloomy at children for long. “Master Jaskier, my mama met a very, <em>veery</em> big wolf in the woods!” she says, hands behind her back, twirling slowly on the spot. Jaskier stills, preparing himself at the inevitable hit – he's not getting along well with wolves, lately. “And it's eating my ducks!”</p><p>“Shame.” he comments, with a sliver of voice.</p><p>“And it hurt the granpapa of my friend.” she shrugs, as if she doesn't really care, “Mama wants to know if your Witcher will come here soon? So he can take care of it!”</p><p>“I don' think that... Geralt will come. Not anytime soon, at least, darling.” <em>he's too occupied in fucking a stunning sorceress to care about me here.</em> “Tell your mama that she needs to find another way to get rid of the wolf.”</p><p>“But! But what if it's a werewolf?!”</p><p>Jaskier bristles, “I can't help you. Find another Witcher.” Before he closes the door on her face, he adds, “Thank your mother for the bread.”</p><p>Then he stays for while, infinite minutes contemplating the wood of the closed door in front of him, trying to calm his breathing. Maybe it's better like this, Jaskier thinks feverishly. Maybe if Geralt was here, he would surely take care of the baker's problem, and he would inevitably get hurt in the process, as it happened one too many times already. As it happened to Eskel last summer.</p><p>Maybe it's better like this, because Geralt is now with a powerful sorceress with glowing hands and not a useless, good for nothing human in his Path. The sorceress can help him, can fight next to him without having a panic attack over the blood pouring out of his wounds – hell, she probably can even <em>prevent</em> with her magical powers whatever deadly creature may attack him, she can cure him in a matter of seconds, she won't need reassurance, she won't need someone to help her breathe normally or to help her limbs regain their strength when not enough air reached her brain or take her in a safe place where she is <em>not </em>the one bleeding out on the floor.</p><p>Jaskier puts an hand on the wooden door, feeling the coldness of it his palm. It makes him shiver. This place, this house, it's been his – <em>their, no one's</em> – safe place for years when Geralt decided to retire for a while, waiting for Jaskier to feel better. He gave up everything he was – <em>everything he returned to be</em> – for his health.</p><p>The least Jaskier can do, now, is to leave him with someone worthy of him, someone that can actually travel beside him without losing their mind. Maybe he should have done that from the start, when he notices for the first time how incomparable they are – it would have probably hurt less than it does now, when he's been set aside like this after all this time.</p><p>He takes a deep, shivering breath, he leaves the bread on the kitchen's table, and goes back to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>The townsfolk indeed call for another Witcher. For all Jaskier knows, the baker's wife put a contract in a notice board in the nearest town – Corvo Bianco is small, and it's a bit farther away from any main roads – and, surprisingly, someone has arrived.</p><p>It's the innkeeper, that Jaskier meets at the well as he goes to collect water, that says that to him. “It's a Witcher I've never met before,” he says, gruffly, while he weights up two buckets full of water, “He came here this morning, flashed a strange grin when he asked us to take his things, payed a room and went to hell, probably.”</p><p>Jaskier is almost afraid to ask, “What is he like?”</p><p>The Witcher is obviously not Geralt, because the innkeeper would have known him in that case. Jaskier is scared to hope anyway – he wants him to be Eskel, or Lambert. He needs a familiar face, someone he can talk about and understand his words. A shoulder he can cry on. A friend he can ask to keep an eye on Geralt, because he can't anymore.</p><p>“He's, uh, strange. Has scars, pale skin, two swords.”</p><p>“Like any Witcher.” Jaskier almost laughs. He can be anyone, really. He doesn't dare to hope.</p><p>“Dunno if he'll come back, but he has a room in my inn. You might meet him.”</p><p>Jaskier takes a deep breath, “I might.”</p><p>He does, that same evening. Jaskier doesn't even know why, after all, if the Witcher is Eskel or Lambert, they know where he lives – and if they already know about Geralt and his break up and they don't want to see him anymore, Jaskier surely doesn't want to impose his presence to someone who doesn't want it. He can be annoying, and most of the time he ignores when a person is annoyed by him, but he can take very well that kind of hint.</p><p>But curiosity's got the best of him, and won against the disappointment that is already stinging in his chest, while he walks, slowly, the small roads of Corvo Bianco. The past years, he has taken the same roads so many times that he's lost count, to reach the tavern down the village so he could perform for a, yes, a small crowd, but a very welcoming crowd. A crowd that Jaskier always adored, especially when they warmed up towards an amazed Geralt – still not used to the generosity, kindness and gentleness of this people.</p><p>He enters inside the inn and he's greeted by the innkeeper's wife. After a bit of small talks, she immediately points him a table in the center of the common room, where a man dressed of a light, leather armor is eating voraciously, not looking up as the innkeeper's wife tells him, “He's the Witcher!”, even though Jaskier is pretty sure that he's heard them very clearly.</p><p>Jaskier doesn't know what he was expecting. Not Geralt, but when his eyes lay on the Witcher's hair, he feels nonetheless a pang of disappointment when he notices that the colour is wrong, it's a too dark shade, not even close at the white strands Jaskier is so fond of. It's not even the brownish, gentle colour of Eskel's, and that is definitely not the chaotic head of Lambert. And he's never met Vesemir, but by the stories he heard, the Witcher is definitely not Geralt's mentor.</p><p>He blinks frenetically, but his eyes remain dry. He has half a mind to just turn around and forget about the unknown Witcher – right now, it's not strong enough to deal with the mess of another Witcher – but, the other half... the other half is curious. He wants to know who he is. He's been so lonely lately...</p><p>“I'll pay for what he eats.” he says then, to the woman in front of him, “Bring him another bowl of broth.”</p><p>“Want some, dear?”</p><p>Jaskier shakes his head, “I've already eaten, thank you.” he tells her, as he walks towards the Witcher that now is looking straight at him with a confused stare. He fidgets with a hem of his doublet, feeling a bit intimidated under the Witcher's unnerving eyes.</p><p>When Jaskier sits finally in front of him, he notices his medallion. The animal it represents is definitely not a wolf. “You're welcome.” he says, because he doesn't really know how to break the ice.</p><p>It works, somehow. The Witcher laughs, with a half seductive smile. “You must be the bard that lives here. There's this little girl that this morning talked my ear off about you, while showing me the way to the inn. She said you're funny and have a funny voice.”</p><p>Jaskier laughs. She must be the baker's daughter, the split image of her mother. “That must be me, yes.” The innkeeper's wife comes to them with two steaming bowls of broth, and ignores Jaskier splutters when one of the bowls is settled in front of him. She just looks at him, deadpanned, and makes a tactless remark about the weight he has lost lately, before turning back at her chores. “You're here for that child's parent's contract about a wolf.”</p><p>“That girl thinks it's a werewolf. And she's godsdamn right about that, at least.” the Witcher eyes at him through long, thick lashes. His eyes are of a strong yellow, they almost glow in the timid light of the torches. There is smudged kohl decorating his lids, it makes them bigger and more feline. They are like a black cat's. “She's wrong about you, you don't seem funny at all. You have no instruments with you, and I am not hearing a single song danced in miles. You're boring,” he grimaces, then, “And depressed. You're depressing me.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn't touch the broth, that's going cold under his nose. And really, as much as he's trying to be better, he can't deny those words. “Sorry for that. I... forgot my lute back at home.” he lies easily. His lute has remained untouched since Rinde, and now it's collecting dust inside his case under the bed. “My name is Jaskier, by the way. I was hoping–” what? What was he hoping to obtain? There is a Witcher in front of him and it's not from the Wolf's school. It's all a waste of time. “Nevermind. You're a Cat Witcher, and, I'll be honest, I haven't heard anything good about Cats. People say that you're cunning, and cruel. I, obviously, don't think it's true, because people say those things to all kind of Witcher, really,” he doesn't say that most of those things was Geralt that told him, “But I thank you for your services. If there's really a werewolf around here, it's... bad. It's a very bad... situation. Rarely we've had this kind of problem, here.”</p><p>“You know quite a lot 'bout Witchers, uh.” the Witcher pushes his empty bowl to the side, without lowering his gaze from Jaskier's face, “Name's Aiden. I'm a Cat Witcher, and I am usually cruel, if needed.”</p><p>Jaskier tries a smile, “Hopefully, we won't need it. I just wanted to tell you that here, you'll be... treated well. Not as a mutant, that is. They are used to Witchers, so no one will charge you more than needed for food and such, and they will pay you what is owed.”</p><p>The Witcher – Aiden – passes a hand against his lips, wiping the grease away with a swift move, “Good. I like when I'm payed fair and well. Now, this has been awkward enough so, if the master bard will permit it, I will head to bed. I spent all the day in the woods and found nothing, so if y'all are so cordial as you're saying, now I deserve a very good rest.” he says, standing up and stretching his long limbs. He's more lean and slender than the Witchers Jaskier knows, with less muscles and more agility, he guesses. <em>I bet his cock is still smaller than Geralt's</em>, Jaskier thinks, then, immediately after, he feels the urge to bang his head against the table.</p><p>Jaskier doesn't answer him, too occupied in try not to maim himself. But then, Aiden stop in his track and turns around enough to look at him again, contemplating something that Jaskier cannot read in his expression, “Now that I think 'bout it, I have another contract. Considering that I have to wait the next full moon to do anything with the werewolf, better get done with that too.”</p><p>Jaskier shrugs. It's not really his concern, after all. For a second, he has the impulse of telling him that, if only he needs it, he has some witchery potions back at his house. Just in case he hasn't enough supplies with him for both the contracts. After all, Geralt won't use them ever again. But, but something stops him to propose that: fuck, they're <em>Geralt's</em>, regardless of everything.</p><p>He won't give Geralt's things to anyone for any reason at all.</p><p>“The little girl hired me,” Aiden continues, with a grin. “She said that your house is haunted, because every night all the village hears wails coming from.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, “That's... that's untrue.”</p><p>“She said that everyone is just ignoring that. Oh, it must be a very <em>scared</em>– correction, scaring creature living into your house.”</p><p>“There is no creature in my house! And no one wails in the night!” Jaskier snaps, incredulous. Whatever the fuck? “Well, I would know if there is something like that in my own house, I live there! There is nothing apart from me!”</p><p>Aiden raises an eyebrow.</p><p>Suddenly, hot shame creeps up Jaskier's chest, coloring his cheeks in an ugly red. “It's not <em>me</em>, Witcher.”</p><p>It's impossible. He doesn't cry since the day the townsfolk sent the pie to him. And during the night he, Gods, he just <em>sleeps</em>. He doesn't have nightmares, he has no reason to <em>wail</em>.</p><p>“Oh, I don't know. But worry not, bard, <em>I</em> am the monster hunter here, so I'll soon find out what lurks in your shadows, for very little compensation. See ya later, then!”</p><p>“Later?” Jaskier repeats, stunned. All he receives for an answer is the Witcher retreated back, and nothing else. He's totally been ignored, damn it. “Fucking hell.” he softly murmurs, even if all he wants to do is <em>screaming</em> for the terrible fate that has fallen upon his head.</p><p>He doesn't want another Witcher in his life. One – <em>three, he lost them all</em> – is enough, and he has already stomped on his poor, fragile heart, surely there's no need for another one to push his finger into the still fresh wound. Aiden will notices the evident presence –<em> late</em> presence – of a Witcher, from Geralt's old armors and weapons hanging on the wall, to the countless potions in the storage, and there will be questions, so many question that Jaskier <em>still </em>doesn't want to answer. And if he, indeed, is the one wailing during the night, he'll want to know the reason, and– and he doesn't want to <em>explain himself</em>. He feels so tired.</p><p>Dazed, he leaves a couple of coins on the table, next to the untouched, cold bowl of broth and gets out into the fresh evening air. He blinks while walking, not really acknowledging where he's going but pretty sure that his own feet are taking him home.</p><p>He thought he was feeling better. He thought that after a couple of months, he's made peace with what happened in Rinde, considering that it was no one's fault, considering that now Geralt is safer that he'll ever be with him, considering that all he wants is Geralt's happiness even if it's not with him. Sure, Jaskier's always been selfish, and he's always wanted <em>everything</em> despite it all, but– but he thought that with Geralt was different, that he was – is – more important than his foolish humanly desires.</p><p>And yet, Gods. And yet, here he is, sad and depressed, still waiting for Geralt to come home.</p><p> </p><p>It's been still unexpected when Jaskier finds Aiden in front of his door, wearing only a light colored chemise and a bag thrown carelessly on a shoulder. He's not in his armor, but the two twin swords are strapped on his back nonetheless. His medallion shines, feline, in the moonlight.</p><p>Jaskier lets him enter, because what else could he do. Aiden looks around curiously, wide, sharp eyes – clean of every traces of kohl, now – registering every single traces he can find – no wonder he's already guessed that he's not the first Witcher to put his feet in there, hell, he probably already knows that a Witcher has <em>lived </em>here for years just for a single look at the walls.</p><p>“Unexpected, but I'm not surprised.” Aiden comments, abandoning his bag on the kitchen's floor. He grabs an apple, already making himself at home, and hums in contemplation. “Nice swords. Expensive leather. The Witcher that lives here seems to be a rich bastard.”</p><p>They're Jaskier's gift, the most expensive armors. He doesn't say so. “He doesn't live here.”</p><p>“Lived, then. Doesn't make a difference.” <em>It does</em>. “My medallion stays still. You're a lucky bastard, no monsters are lurking in your house and nothing will attack you in his absence. Apart from the werewolf, at least.”</p><p>“Glad it's settled. I apologize to have wasted your time, you may go now.”</p><p>“Oh, but I'm not saying that you're not haunted, little bard.” Aiden says, with a sweet, low voice. Maybe he wants to be suave, but Jaskier thinks he's being almost threatening. “There are ghost that not even my medallion can catch. Memories are a kind of ghost, after all. They haunt, and bring torment, they suck the life out of you. Tell me, is your Witcher dead?”</p><p>Jaskier's ears whistle, and he's pretty sure that his heart is beating like crazy in his chest. Aiden surely is hearing it just right. He's smiling as if he listens to it while having it pulsing in his palms. “No.” he chokes out.</p><p>“<em>Mh</em>, so it's not that kind of torment.” Aiden walks around him, studying him. Jaskier feels those yellow eyes on his body, and he feels naked: it feels nice, being watched like that, but– but he can't find himself to enjoy it right now. “What's your Witcher's name?”</p><p>“Aiden,” Jaskier whispers his name, “Please. I don't want to talk about this.” he begs.</p><p>“Mh.” Aiden repeats, “Untold ghosts are more difficult to get rid of.”</p><p>“Well, maybe I <em>don't</em> want to get rid of them!” Jaskier hisses, with his whole body trembling. It feels like in the middle of a earthquake. “They are fantastic, <em>wonderful</em> ghosts, no matter how it ended! I don't what to forget him, I don't want to forget any of them!”</p><p>Aiden takes a step back, arms raised in an apologetic move. “Your problem, really.”</p><p>“Exactly. No one asked you anything, so drop it. It's my problem and I'll deal with it. Now, if you would be so kind to leave me the fuck alone.” Jaskier gestures towards the door, “Your room at the inn is waiting for you.”</p><p>Aiden clicks his tongue against his palate, creating an almost ominous noise echoing around. “Actually, it's not. I got kicked out.”</p><p>“Excuse me, <em>how</em>?”</p><p>Aiden bursts out laughing, “Believe me, bard, it's a very funny story. I move a lot while sleeping, and I <em>accidentally </em>broke some furniture. And I have no money to pay it back, <em>sooo</em>.” he shrugs, “Before I started to destroy more and raised my debit more, I left the room. Do you have a spare bed, right?”</p><p>“I have a couch.” Jaskier prompts, dazed.</p><p>“Better than nothing, I guess.” Aiden enters inside the couch room, and falls dead weight on the cushions, stretching like a cat. He's longer than the couch, his feet dangle out of it the same his head lolls on the other side, more than Eskel has ever done. “It <em>is </em>better than the forest's floor, and the fireplace's right 'ere.” With a quick sign, he lights the dead embers.</p><p>A shiver runs down his spine. Aiden throws a curious – and somehow, knowingly – look at him, because of course he's smelling something humiliating, inappropriate, uncalled for from him. “It's still summer.” he whispers, his eyes burning as he looks at the long, moving fingers.</p><p>They're not too similar to Geralt's. They're longer than his, and less paler. Geralt has a scar running between the thumb and the index finger that ends right under the wrist that Aiden doesn't have. Still, looking at him making the same sign Geralt – and Eskel, and Lambert – used to do there, in the same place, for the same reason... <em>Gods</em>.</p><p>“It'll be cold soon, trust me. Witchers sense that– but oh, why do I tell you this? You already know plenty about Witchers.”</p><p>Jaskier grimaces, “You really are cruel.”</p><p>“You don't know cruelty at all, then.”</p><p>He hides inside the guest room without much as a goodnight, leaving Aiden glowing in the light of the burning fireplace. He lays on the bed, over the blankets, hugging his knees in a fetal position. He breathes better like this, even if the smell is churning his chest – the smell of earth, of burnt twigs, of unwashed skin. He feels it permeating onto his own clothes, like a thick layer of grime, and it pulses in his head like an headache. He misses it, he wants it back.</p><p>He doesn't notices the time passing, while staring at the dark corners of the room with unseeing, unblinking eyes. A passing thought pushes into his mind that the Witcher sleeping on the couch doesn't even have a blanket to cover himself, even if he knows how absurd this is, considering that Witchers rarely feel cold and that the fireplace is burning right now. Still, he finds himself raising up from the bed and opening one of the cabinet's door to grab a spare blanket nonetheless, and exiting his room with little noise as not to wake Aiden – didn't Aiden rest before coming here? Is he really sleeping right now? Is he just waiting for him to start his wails? – leaving his door slightly ajar.</p><p>The fire is still burning, and Aiden is still lying comfortably on the couch. He puts the blanket on Aiden's sleeping form, and he doesn't do much as make a sigh. Jaskier is not stupid, no matter what people that know him say, so he's aware that Aiden is probably awake, or at least he's awakened by his gesture, as much as soft it's been. He doesn't let his eyes linger too much, he walks backward to his room and turns back in his position on the bed.</p><p>He hates it, but he can't even get an hour of sleep that night.</p><p> </p><p>When the first light comes in through the window, Jaskier feels too aware of the presence of his host to stay lazing in the bed all morning, waiting for his stomach to start rumbling with hunger he will not satisfy. So he gets up, washes his face in the freezing water of the basin he has inside his room, wears his chemise and trousers and, sighing as if it should help him collect enough courage to face what's outside, he opens the door.</p><p>He finds Aiden sitting on the couch, shining yellow eyes staring down on the carpet. He doesn't acknowledge his arrival, but he has a strange expression on, his pointy nose scrunched as if smelling something really bad.</p><p>There is a plate full of fresh fruit – the fruit Geralt used to grow in the back garden – next to him on the couch, three apple already eaten to the core on the other side. “I see you already served yourself.” Jaskier comments, getting closer. He grabs a peach. He wants something sweet. “You went into the garden.”</p><p>Aiden snorts, not taking his eyes off the carpet, “It needs more care. Not much fresh fruit there anymore.”</p><p>“It isn't me who used to take care of it.” he bites the peach, and the sweet juice invades his mouth, refreshing his tongue, easing his nerves. He's not really hungry, but it's not gallant to let an host eat by himself. Even if he's an unwanted host – or is he? Is he really so unwanted? Does Jaskier really wants to be alone again, without the warmth of a lighted fireplace, without the smell of the Path lingering in the air?</p><p>Finally, Aiden takes off his eyes from the carpet. Jaskier isn't sure, this time, but he would say that it's the unknown stain – is it wine? Is it Geralt's, or Lambert's, or Eskel's, or his come? – on it that took all his attention. “And you choose to abandon it? That's a very cruel thing to do. What its caretaker would think, when he'll come back and see that his garden is reduced to ashes under the burning sun?”</p><p>“Well,” Jaskier sniffs. He doesn't think Geralt would care anymore. His sorceress surely would have a better garden, or whatever she can create with her fucking powers. “It's not my business anymore, and it's never been <em>yours</em>.” Jaskier comes closer to him, and Aiden sniffs, and grins. Jaskier should be used to this, this feeling of being an open book in front of a man that could understand what's going on in his body – even before himself, sometimes – with just a casual inhale, but he still feels under scrutiny. “Tell me, master Witcher, do you have nothing better to do instead of judging my way of treating my own house?”</p><p>“Far be it from me to cause you discomfort in your own house, master bard.” Aiden says, sarcastically. He lounges back, half laying against the cushions of the couch behind his shoulders. He spreads his thighs, a provocative smile on his face, while he looks at him with strange, almost cautious eyes as Jaskier stops, standing, right in the middle of his open legs.</p><p>“I've been thinking.”</p><p>“You think very loudly, y'know? Tossing all the night in that room of yours. No wails, though. It was almost disappointing.”</p><p>“You still have that contract, haven't you? No wails don't mean no ghosts.” Jaskier sighs, and kneels in front of him. Almost timidly, he puts his hands on both his kneecaps, tightening just slightly the grip as if saying <em>I am here and I want this and please I'm so lonely</em>. “I don't want to get rid of my ghosts, Aiden. But, but I long for peace, ever for just a day, for just an hour. I want to quiet them.”</p><p>Aiden leans towards him, narrowing his yellow eyes imperceptibly, “And are you sure that I am the best fit for this?”</p><p><em>No</em>, no he's not. He's the worst fit, his very presence won't ever quiet down the memories, the longing, no matter how many differences there are between him and Geralt: there are still too, too many similarities. Being with him is like pouring hot water on a fresh wound, it's not going forwards but taking three, four steps back at every breath – it's like closing his eyes and sink into delusions, not opening them and move on with his life. “It will seem absurd, and an exaggeration after not even a day, but I only have you.”</p><p>Aiden chuckles, and scratches the side of his mouth with the long nail of his pinky. “And my compensation?”</p><p>It stings, somehow, but it doesn't stop Jaskier from scrambling on his lap and throwing his arms around the pale, slender, strong neck of the Witcher. “If you're on, it will be enough of a compensation. So?”</p><p>“What can I say? It's my job.”</p><p>With a trembling sigh, Jaskier takes off his chemise, still seated on Aiden's lap. The long fingers of the Witcher takes place against his waist, grabbing the sides of his arse as if steadying him during the half feverish strip. Knees on the couch, he put strength in them so he can push down his trousers, with Aiden's help. It's fast, and quick, even if the hem of his underwear leaves a red path on his skin.</p><p>Gods, it's been months since he had sex last time. It was before Yennefer, before Rinde. It was like the old days, when Geralt and he were at the start of their love life, and they made love everywhere, whenever they wanted, with no care at all. Under the stars, in an empty stable, in a shitty bed in a shitty inn. It didn't matter. What mattered that time was every drop of blood pouring out of Geralt's body, and the slowly shattering of his mind over it.</p><p>Before Rinde, Jaskier wasn't thinking about Geralt's blood, because they were heading towards Kaer Mohen, and Geralt wasn't searching for contracts. Before Rinde, nothing mattered.</p><p>It still doesn't matter, though.</p><p>“Just one thing,” Aiden murmurs against his lips. Jaskier still doesn't close the distance between their mouths – he never kissed Eskel and Lambert, does he? It was one of Geralt's boundaries, or not? He shouldn't care, he shouldn't care, <em>he shouldn't care</em>. “What's your Witcher's name?”</p><p>Jaskier stills and blinks, “I beg your pardon?”</p><p>Huffing in a frustrating way, Aiden asks again: “What's your Witcher's name?”</p><p>“Why do you want to know so much?! Why do you <em>care</em>?!”</p><p>“Sweet fuck, just <em>tell me</em>!”</p><p>“It's Geralt, alright? Geralt of Rivia!” Jaskier sniffs, and he <em>no</em>, he's not gonna cry! He's mostly mad, right now, not sad, and frustrated because he wants to fuck, not answer a damned questionnaire thank you very much! “You really are cruel! And stupid! You're not really helping me enter into the right mood, I tell you! If you wanted to fuck, you're using the wrong approach!”</p><p>Aiden widens his eyes, then frowns. He looks down on the carpet, then at Jaskier's face once again, “Geralt, you said? Are you sure?”</p><p>“Oh, Gods, are you fucking kidding me?” Jaskier shakes his head, incredulous, partly even annoyed, “You know what, nevermind. It was an idiotic idea from the start anyway.” he says, getting up from Aiden's lap, uncaring of his nakedness. He puts his pants on again and heads towards the kitchen, or in the guest room again, or outside, as long as it's away from the Witcher.</p><p>Aiden grabs his arm halfway through the kitchen, “No wait, uh. I thought– I mean, I smell... I still smell, it's impossible, and yet I still smell...” he also shakes his head, but more like he wants to get rid of an absurd thought. “But the name's Geralt, so it's fine. Do you want to fuck on the kitchen table?”</p><p>“You are insane.” Jaskier says, gaping. “You are fucking crazy.”</p><p>Aiden raises an eyebrow. Gods, but he's attractive. “Is that a problem?”</p><p>“Fuck no.”</p><p>Jaskier kisses him, because he really has no other choice. Aiden likes to use his tongue, it seems, because he laps at his lips at first, wetting them, probably still tasting the sweetness of the peach he has eaten before. When Aiden pushes his tongue inside his mouth, it feels wrong.</p><p>He's never gonna kiss him again.</p><p>Aiden grabs his thighs and helps him sit on the wooden table, as Geralt's done so many times. He settles between his legs, mouthing at his neck while lowering his underpants again. He nips at the hair on his chest, then lower against his belly. When he's kneels down on the floor, his breath heavy and hot against the tip of his aching, hard cock, Aiden looks up at him through thick, long lashes. “I don't usually go on my knees, y'know. Can do an exception for a cute customer like you.”</p><p>“It seems like you were born for it.” Jaskier comments, voice heavy.</p><p>He groans loudly when Aiden's tongue lavishes the underside of his cock. He puts the heels of his feet on his shoulders, encircling his face with his thighs. He knows from experience that no matter how much he squeezes, too engrossed in pleasure to care: Witchers don't get hurt easily, and they won't suffocate while sucking a cock. He almost laughs at that thought.</p><p>So he closes his eyes, throws back his head and, with a hand gripping into Aiden's messy hair, and enjoys the first blowjob he received since <em>months</em>. Usually he prefers to stay with his eyes wide open, to look at how his lover is giving him pleasure. He likes to watch, being watched, and showing – with his voice, with his expressions, with everything in his disposition – how much he loves having sex, but now, now he just wants to lose himself into the sensation, with no care at all.</p><p>Let's quiet down the ghosts.</p><p>When the warmth of Aiden's mouth engulfs him whole, Jaskier shudders. At the same time, fingers slicks with oil rub against his hole, not pushing inside, just caressing the tender skin – he must have found the cooking oil right on the shelf behind him, where it's always been, always ready for them to use. He's fine with the lack of waiting, he doesn't want Aiden to take his time in this: he wants it now, he wants it rough and quick. A sweet, slow fuck was Geralt's priority – even when Geralt were just watching from afar.</p><p>Jaskier hisses, and the hand with which he was supporting himself on the table slips on it and he falls back flat against the wood. He writhes like a serpent, unable to stay still, as if his body doesn't want to receive the pleasure even if his mind is craving it, and yet he comes so hard nonetheless when those fingers dig into him and graze against his prostrate, when that mouth sucks and sucks and then drinks until his last drop.</p><p>When Aiden stands up, Jaskier's hand on his hair slides down. Aiden licks his lips, passes the back of his hand to wipe them, then settles himself against Jaskier's gaping hole. “You taste nice, bard.”</p><p>“Sweet talking will get you nowhere, Witcher.” he feels embarrassed by it, but his voice comes out broken.</p><p>Jaskier gasps when Aiden's cock – smaller, definitely smaller in girth, but leaner and maybe longer, it doesn't matter though, it's not the same, <em>it's not the same</em> – slithers into him, with just a little difficulty due to the long time passed since his last. Aiden grasps one if his thighs and lifts it until it's put flat against his stomach, and Gods he feels so vulnerable like this, spread open on the kitchen table. The moment Aiden's hips hit his buttocks, Jaskier whines at the sensation his leather breeches leave on his flushed skin, then jolts when Aiden lifts one of his legs and puts it on a chair changing slightly his cock's position.</p><p>And Melitele, it hits <em>right there</em>.</p><p>“Yes,” Jaskier moans, his other feet still on his shoulder and still trying to push him away. “It's perf– perfect–”</p><p>Aiden slams into him with renovated fervor after those words, and Jaskier feels his grin over his tender skin as he breathes slightly more heavy. He pushes and pushes and pushes, hands first on Jaskier's hips, then thighs, then everywhere. Aiden licks away the sweat, he seems somehow to really like his taste, and Jaskier feels wet, marked, full of unknown trails on his body.</p><p>He won't come again, he knows that. His cock isn't erect yet, it lays spent on his navel, but he doesn't care, it still feel so good, the goosebumps on his skin, the sliding of his sweaty body against the table along with the thrusts, the hot breath of the Witcher on top of him.</p><p>Aiden licks under his chin, “Fuck, why you– it's so faint and yet, why do you smell like this?”</p><p>In any other situation, Jaskier would feel outraged at the Witcher's words, but his mind is lost in a haze, too desperate in his searching of something different than the loneliness of this past months. And he's there, is almost there, he feels so close to bliss that behind his shut lids his eyes rolls back. He missed this, he missed Geralt, and now...</p><p>“It's driving me crazy, <em>his</em> smell on you–”</p><p>Aiden quickens his pace, and the slapping of skin against skin becomes more erratic, less controlled. Jaskier can't help but whine at every thrust, enjoying the feeling of fullness after all this time and how the cock inside of him throbs and engrosses, getting closer and closer to its release.</p><p>“<em>Lamb</em>–”</p><p>Jaskier opens his eyes at that murmur, a murmur so quiet that at first he thought he had just imagined it. In front of him there is not Geralt, but another Witcher, a stranger one, and he has not the permission to come inside of him. Geralt never wanted that.</p><p>“Out,” creaks Jaskier then, this time really pushing Aiden out of his body with the heel of his feet to his shoulders and chest. “Don't come in me, <em>get out of me</em>.”</p><p>Aiden comes with a loud groan after slipping out of Jaskier just in time, and his come pools on Jaskier's navel, hot and sticky. Jaskier feels it falling down his waist and staining the wooden table under his body. He feels relieved by it: Gods, he shouldn't care, he knows that, and he hates himself so much because he's still living as if Geralt has a place in his life, as if he's never gone.</p><p>It was probably too early, too soon. It was a mistake. The ghosts are still too strong to keep them from shouting into his ears, echoing painfully inside his head. On the contrary, the ghosts seem to be angry now, and all he wants to do is to wail for the wrongness of it, of the unfairness. He just wants to live his life, to be free and happy again. Why is it so difficult? It shouldn't be so hard to breath.</p><p>“–Jaskier?”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, and Aiden takes form in front of him where there was only a claustrophobic black space before. He is frowning, but seems relieved when Jaskier comes back to earth again and murmurs, “I'm good.”, so he lets himself lounge on the chair behind him and enjoying his afterglow while Jaskier all but tries to regain a conscious that's trying to bring him into insanity. He won't give up. He knows that he's stronger than a heartbreak. “We won't do this again.” he says, as he sits up.</p><p>Aiden's eyes watch every single slow movement he's making, without comments, thank the Gods for that. “Meh, I didn't think it was that bad.”</p><p>“It wasn't. It's just me.” Jaskier stands up on wobbly legs, going near the cupboard and grabbing a towel. He cleans himself at best, not caring to offer to do the same to Aiden, that still stays there, with his fly open and an annoyingly knowing grin plastered on his fucking face. “Don't worry for your ego, you were good.”</p><p>Aiden raises both his eyebrows, “Just good?”</p><p>“I've had better.” Jaskier shrugs, then gets dressed as he tries not to think about the best he's ever had. Once clothed, he settles in front of Aiden with his hands on his waist, waiting for the Witcher to stop feigning outrage at his words.</p><p>“You're so cold.” And is it strange? No lover of his – never, in his entire life – has ever said this about Jaskier. He's always been a perfect lover, that adores to cuddle, and always ready to try new things and never gets bored even with a good old–fashioned fuck. Things really change when one isn't in a right mood: he guesses that, with time, he'll turn back into the man he once was. He just has to give himself time to heal, and time to adjust to a life without an important part of it. “But I guess that's better, I don't really want to fuck someone that blacks out with anxiety right after.”</p><p>Jaskier laughs. Well, he's not wrong, “You son of a whore.”</p><p>“My mother was a very dedicated whore, I don't see where the insult is in that.” Aiden stretches his long limbs and, finally, after Jaskier rolls his eyes at his total indifference, buttons up his breeches. Strange how little Jaskier cares that Aiden didn't even take off his clothes, during the fuck: he used to pretend nakedness from his lover, so he could watch their bodies in full, and feel sweaty skin against sweaty skin. “Well, it's been fun and all, but it's time for me to go.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns. He wasn't expecting this. “To where?”</p><p>“Finding clues about the werewolf. If I'm lucky, I'll find it before full moon. Usually I am not, but I guess I should try.” Aiden shrugs. Jaskier hasn't a good feeling about this, but it's probably because he doesn't want to be alone, despite everything.</p><p>Jaskier doesn't say anything, though, so Aiden gets up and ruffles his hair. He stops for a imperceptible second, inhaling deeply the air lingering around them – around <em>Jaskier</em>, especially – and he probably likes what's smelling, this time, because he smiles, satisfied, as he walks away towards the door. “Ta!” he waves at him, two fingers at his forehead, then disappears into the morning light.</p><p>Jaskier sighs, biting his lower lips. He looks around, at the empty room, and the quiet walls, and the soulless reflections of himself on the windows' glass. He walks back into his room, not bothering to go filling the tub for a bath, and he lays on the bed, dry eyes wide open.</p><p>He wonders if he'll stay like this for the rest of the day.</p><p> </p><p>Someone's knocking at his door.</p><p>At this point, Jaskier thinks that it's no Witchers. Geralt surely doesn't need to knock, this, even if he has abandoned it, is still also his house. They can't be neither Eskel or Lambert, because they would never come back without Geralt, of course, no matter how much he hopes; and if so, he kind of expects Lambert to just enter through the window, instead of the door. And Aiden, well, he hasn't known the Cat Witcher for long, but he has always acted as if this is his house, after all, and he not a mere host; he would just enter, hell, Jaskier would find him on the couch without much of a warning if only Aiden wanted to come back.</p><p>As expected, he's stayed all day in bed. He raises from it now that the knocking becomes more fretting, guessing that it could be one of the villagers in need of something. Indeed, at his door there is the baker and an old man, their faces grim and uncomfortable. Behind them, two other men are holding up a makeshift stretcher with... Aiden laying on it.</p><p>“What?” he manages to say. The fingertips of his hands are starting to feel very cold. “What happened?”</p><p>“We found him at the edge of the woods. We don't know what happened, but he doesn't stop bleeding.” the elder says, ushering the two men without waiting for Jaskier's invite. Not that there's a need for that, in this situation, but– Gods, is he– “We supposed that Witchers stop bleeding at some point, but he's dying and we thought that perhaps you would know what to do.”</p><p>“Witchers don't magically heal themselves!” Jaskier shrieks, showing the way to his room at the two men. His eyes fall on the unmoving form of Aiden on the stretcher and, somehow, breathing is not coming easy on him. “Oh Gods, oh not <em>again</em>.” he whispers to himself, keeping to repeat as he points his bed. “Please not again. Jask, stay here, don't lose focus.”</p><p>They lay Aiden on the blankets, that immediately turn deep red under him. Jaskier stays immobile in front of the scene, eyes not quite able to see. He feels again on the Path next to Geralt, but not during those blissful times under the starry skies, no, he feels like he's again half conscious next to a bleeding Geralt – Geralt that he never cared about himself, but always about Jaskier first, no matter how severe his wound were, how close to death he was, how more pale his skin was and how black his eyes were. Geralt always brought him to safety, before collapsing.</p><p>And with time, his mind couldn't take it anymore.</p><p>Gods, he's feeling like this, now. He's feeling like his mind is going to shutter in a matter of seconds.</p><p>“Master bard?” the elder calls to him, and Jaskier blinks.</p><p>“Yeah,” he breathes in. He needs air in his brain, now, he cannot lose focus, not in this dire moment. “Go in the kitchen, there is a cupboard... there are potions inside. He needs them to get better.”</p><p>One of the men goes, while the others look at him expectantly. There is a burden on his shoulders, big and heavy, and Jaskier can't tell if it's the responsibility they are bringing upon him or just the anxiety crushing him down. “I'll go fetch clean water from the well.” the other man says, when silence is the only thing coming out of Jaskier.</p><p>“Right.” With a trembling sighs, he finds enough courage to get closer. He tries to steady his hands when he brings them on Aiden's chest to tear open his clothes so as to see the amount of damages. He can't see well, there is a wall of black and white dots covering his eyes that makes everything in front of him so unclear, but in the haze of his mind he can barely make out the enormous spot of blood staining Aiden's chest, widening at every difficult breath he's trying to take in.</p><p>To think that just that same morning, Aiden was lounging on a chair, with just spunk and sweat staining his pale skin, is overwhelming and heartbreaking. It's unfair how things can change in a matter of moments.</p><p>Jaskier grabs absentmindedly the potions someone hands him, “He needs stitches, after drinking the... this, the golden one.” he sniffs, “The concoction, this, this silver one is better if we smear it on the w–wound directly.”</p><p>He starts to work in silence, as if a force has taken the control of his entire being, mind completely blank. He still can't see what's going on, the black and white spots blocking his sight are there and it will be long before they completely disappear, considering how difficult is to breath. He doesn't know how or when he's found the needle and threads for the stitches, nor how he's let Aiden drink the needed potions.</p><p>He doesn't feel the pats on the back as the villagers get out of the house, leaving him alone with a barely breathing Witcher in his bed and countless, mad ghosts flying all around him. He does hear, though, a quiet cry, a screech of sort barely audible in his suddenly deaf ears. He ignores it.</p><p>Jaskier finds himself sit on the floor next to the bed, back against the cold wall, knees close to his chest. Maybe there's an earthquake going on, but consciously he knows that it's just him that's trembling so hard that all of his surrounding seems to move in a so, so frenetic way. At this point, he looks down at his palm, and he discovers that the screech is coming out of his own mouth, because at the sight of the blood – Gods, so much blood – staining his hands, the noise becomes so loud that even in his temporarily deafness he can hear it so clearly.</p><p>He puts his head between his legs, inhaling and exhaling every five seconds, as Geralt taught him to do. Slowly, ever so slowly, the room returns to its colour and shape, and in his ears there's only the quietening of his desperate cry. When his legs feel again attached at the rest of his body, he crawls towards the basin and washes his hands clean, scraping them with so much strength that he almost feels his skin peel off. The water becomes pink as it did the one someone fetched from the well for Aiden's wounds; he tries not to think that all the water he has available in the house is bloodied and iron–smelling. It makes him almost retch: he guesses that if only his stomach wasn't empty, he would have.</p><p>When his hands are finally stainless, Jaskier stays there, still on the floor, on his knees. His mind broke down again even after all this time, even after years passed in a routine of self care; some things are just... triggers. Something will always be broken in his mind – he will always be the worst companion a Witcher can ever have walking along in his Path.</p><p>More and more, Jaskier is making peace with himself. More and more, he's starting to think that it's really better like this, even if it ended way too late, way too painful for him. Geralt has a sorceress with him. He is fine, as Jaskier will one day be. He's safe, as Jaskier is away from the Path.</p><p>Even so, the Path seems to be knocking at his door even without Geralt – Aiden is sleeping on his bed now, chest moving frantically, bandages red where the wound is, his handsome face glistening with feverishly sweat and smudged kohl. The last Witcher he saw in the same condition was Eskel a year ago, when Geralt and Lambert brought him here to heal after a hunt gone bad; Eskel had a nasty wound in the almost same place of Aiden's, but the other two were so quick in action that by the time they came here that Eskel had already stopped bleeding. Jaskier remembers that even that time his mind shuttered, alone in Geralt and his bedroom, but it was a gentler pain, quieter. It brought him trouble in his sleep, but he felt better soon enough after drinking a cup of chamomile, knowing that everything was going to be alright, and that even if his heart was beating so fast that almost slammed out of his chest, there was always Geralt there ready to catch it and place it in right back in.</p><p>Now, Gods, now he feels so lost. So alone. And yet, he can't help but feel that it is for the best. Like this, Geralt will never be in Aiden's place anymore.</p><p><em>Maybe</em>, his traitorous self thinks. And he's going mad with the thought that he'll never know.</p><p>He gets up on wobbly legs with the intention to go sleeping on the couch, but when he arrives next to Aiden, he isn't able to leave. What if he stops breathing while Jaskier's away? What if he needs something and Jaskier is too lost in his own mind to hear his pleas for help?</p><p>So he just slides down on the floor again and, with his aching head on the spot of the bed right next to Aiden's unmoving hands, falls into a fitful sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Aiden sleeps for three days straight.</p><p>After a while, Jaskier stopped worrying. His breathing, after the first day, becomes steady, his skin returns slowly to its natural colour. Once settled that Aiden isn't gonna die in a blink of an eye – he's not gonna die at all, he saved him somehow, even with his mind in pieces – Jaskier goes on with his life. He takes care of him, passing most of the time at his bedside actually, wetting his lips to hydrate him and changing his bandages every once in a while after cleaning him off the blood and kohl. Then he cooks a meal he just nips at – even if he forces himself to eat something, just not to collapse when he has someone to take care of – and he cleans the floor that's got dirty when the townsfolk brought Aiden to him. He tries not to see the drops of blood on the wooden ground under the cleaning rag.</p><p>Watching Aiden sleep, Jaskier has a lot of time to think. He tries not to think at bad things, or at Geralt. Instead, he thinks about the little time he has passed with the Cat Witcher, forcing to remember if he has said something about a threat or a particular dangerous trail for the case of the werewolf. Jaskier just remembers him to say that he needed to wait for the full moon to come before catching it, and that he had just a tiny little chance of finding some clue before then.</p><p>So there's nothing that makes him think of what could have happened to him.</p><p>Instead, there is something that bothers him, something that Aiden has murmured against his skin during sex, something that Jaskier was too occupied in his own sensations to care at the moment. But now he kind of remembers, even if he can't be perfectly sure of what his precise words were. Somehow, he feels in trepidation, he can't wait to Aiden to wake up so he can ask him about that.</p><p>When he finally does, Jaskier is seated in the place on the floor where he slept for the past three days. It's almost nightfall, the only light that illuminates the room is the moon's coming in from the half closed window. It's not cold, but there's a gentle breeze moving the curtains and puts goosebumps on his skin. Aiden opens his eyes as if he's just waking from a good night rest, stretching languidly his limbs and hissing more with frustration than pain.</p><p>Aiden looks at him and blinks while sitting up, confusion blooming on his unmarred face, “What are you doing on the floor?”</p><p>“I fell.” Jaskier says, turning just enough to grab the clean bandages he put on the nightstand that morning.</p><p>“In love with me? Why, I'm flattered.” Aiden smirks, then frowns when he sees what's in Jaskier's hands, “What's that?”</p><p>Jaskier points at the Witcher's chest, “Bandages. I need to change them.”</p><p>Aiden looks down at him, and makes a face as if he just notices that's the almost fatal wound the reason he is on Jaskier's bed in the first place, “I'm not bleeding.”</p><p>“I know, but last time I changed it it was still sunny outside, so...”</p><p>“Bard,” Aiden chuckles, then looks at him with what Jaskier thinks it's fondness in his yellow, bright eyes, but he doesn't know if he wants to believe what's seeing, “Jaskier, there's no need for that, now. Actually, I think you need more rest than me; you look as if a wyvern slammed you throughout a forest. Are you sure it didn't really happen to you? You stink of fear.”</p><p>Jaskier stares at him, and he stares back with his usual flirty look – it's almost ad if nothing ever happened. And he remember, Gods, Jaskier remembers that also Geralt acted like this once healed, even if his wound kept pulling sometimes, and he remembers that also Eskel went immediately training in the back garden the moment he could stand steady on his legs, but... no matter how many times he sees this, Jaskier will never get used to this. He was <em>dying</em> just three days before, for fuck's sake. “I'm fine, just very tired. You took my bed.”</p><p>“You have a couch, if I remember correctly.”</p><p>“That I do have.” Jaskier nods, “Please, now, may I...?” he trails off, pointing again at the Witcher's chest.</p><p>Aiden rolls his eyes and falls again on the mattress with a frustrated huff, “If you must.”</p><p>Jaskier unfurls the used bandages, using extreme care in not to touch or graze too hard on the tender skin – skin that it's pink, and a fresh, angry red scar stands out on the usually pale chest but nothing more than that, surrounded by many others, old and older yet – then, he grabs a previously dampened cloth and starts cleaning the wound, even if there's really no need for that. He has done that for the past three days, incessantly, relentlessly, almost every hour. He needed to do that, so his mind could quiet down. He used to do that so many times with Geralt.</p><p>Silence is the only thing that reigns in the room, broken only by Jaskier's controlled, heavy breathing. He feels Aiden's feline eyes on him, but he's trying to ignore his stare not to get distracted in his work. But it seems that Aiden doesn't feel too comfortable in silence – and that's funny, because also Jaskier never felt confortable with his mouth shut, and yet lately he can't ever find the words – because he clears his throat and, with a finger under Jaskier's chin, he raises it so to see clearly his face. “Come one, bardling. Tell me, what's wrong?”</p><p>“It's funny how you keep calling me bard when you never head me sing, nor play.”</p><p>“Then it's a lack of knowledge that I must compensate as soon as you permit it.”</p><p>Jaskier grimaces, “Maybe later. Can I ask you something?”</p><p>“Only if you bring me a mug of ale.” says Aiden, blowing away from his face a wild strand of hair.</p><p>“As you already know, I only have wine.” but regardless his answer, Jaskier stands up nonetheless and goes out into the kitchen to grab two bottles of Geralt's wine, opens them and turns back in. He hands one to Aiden, then after sitting legs crossed on the floor again, he takes a sip. Then two, then three. It tastes like Geralt. “I was wondering, Aiden,” he starts, bringing together most of his thoughts and thinking about how to ask him what's bugging him without scaring Aiden off. “When we had sex, you called me with a name that wasn't mine, didn't you?”</p><p>Aiden splatters the wine he's drinking, and Jaskier actually almost laughs his arse off at the sight. It's the first time he witnesses a Witcher doing something so... <em>goofy</em>. He almost doesn't care about the blankets now imbued with wine. “No, I didn't.”</p><p>“Your reaction says otherwise.” Jaskier says, as a matter–of–fact.</p><p>“I don't care what my reaction says. You're wrong, end of the story.” Aiden crosses his arms against the bandaged chest, in a very childish way. Jaskier almost expects him to stuck his tongue out at him.</p><p>Jaskier sighs. He's aware that he's petulant, and sometimes pushy, but he <em>needs </em>to know. “You called me <em>Lamb</em>. As in, Lambert?” Aiden widens his eyes, and something in Jaskier's swell. Hope? Or despair? He's happy to know that Aiden knows, and likes he guesses, Lambert or he's afraid that Aiden will hate him now? “Lambert the Wolf Witcher?”</p><p>Aiden blinks, “You know him?” he asks, with a thin voice.</p><p>“Geralt is a Wolf Witcher. Lambert is... one of his brothers.” he explains.</p><p>“Fuck,” Aiden murmurs, “Fuck. You <em>fucked</em> 'im!”</p><p>Jaskier raises his eyebrows, “What?”</p><p>Aiden slaps his own thigh, shaking his head with a strange smile stretching his lips. “I thought I was going insane. I kept smelling him on you, on the bed, on that fucking carpet, and I couldn't understand. I mean, I am obsessed with him, but not at the point to feel him everywhere.” then, he falls silent. “Forget what I've just said.”</p><p>“I shall never forget.” he says, solemnly but in a mocking way. “But... seriously? You are in love with Lambert, of all people?” Not that Jaskier cannot understand this, that is. While he felt a growing fondness toward the gentle ways of Eskel, he always felt drown to Lambert easygoing anger. Actually, Aiden is quite similar to Lambert in a sense: Lambert is mean with cutting words, where Aiden is downright cruel and throws salt on gaping wounds. Jaskier thinks they quite balance each others.</p><p>Aiden grimaces, and uneasiness is clearly written on his face. He looks like he swallowed a piece of rotten fruit, and now he's feeling the disgusting aftertaste in his mouth, “Love. It's a... strong word. Grudgingly pertaining, though.” Aiden's head lolls on the pillow, “Don't ask me why.”</p><p>“There is not always a good reason, or a reason at all. Worry not.” Jaskier pats his hand. He does know how Aiden's feeling, the longing in his eyes is so similar to the one he wore for so many years before Geralt finally fell in his open arms – and that, Gods, it's returned, tenfold, now that he slipped out of his grasp. “Maybe it's his dashing foul mouth that, with time, has conquered your frozen heart. It worked with me.”</p><p>“I'm still wondering why you fucked your lover's <em>brother</em>.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles, flirty, “I actually fucked Eskel too. I'm quite... promiscuous, I don't know if you've noticed, and Geralt didn't mind as long as he was present and it was with someone he trusted. He... actually trusted only his brothers.” he shrugs, his chest aching with want. He longs so much to go back to that time. “I don't think it will happen again, none of them would ever want to see me anymore, I guess. And I'm pretty sure that Geralt won't care whether I fuck someone he approves or not, at this point. Looking back, he didn't ask if <em>I </em>approved of the sorceress he's surely fucking right now, so I shouldn't really care. And I don't. I fucked you, didn't I?”</p><p>“Believe me, he would never approve of me.” Aiden crackles, and looks at him with something akin to pity in his yellow eyes, but Jaskier guesses that it's not addressed just at him, but also at himself. “I'm shit in human relationships, that's why I prefer Witchers. And it's just my luck that I, uh, care for the lesser Witcher of all the Witchers I've ever met.”</p><p>Jaskier giggles, “The <em>lamb </em>among the wolves.”</p><p>“Well, cheers then,” Aiden bumps his wine bottle with Jaskier's, and the <em>twang</em> of glass against glass echoes in the quiet room.</p><p>“To our shitty love life.” Jaskier proposes. Their hands are still holding. It feels nice, less alone. He feels understood, at last. “Cheers to that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don't even eat onion anymore, because it makes me remember about the day we met. He smelled of heroics and heartbreak and so, so much of onions, and yet I still fell in love with him at first sight. You know what he did after barely <em>two</em> hours after our first encounter? He <em>punched </em>me in the guts, and yet I still fell in love with him!” Jaskier whines, taking another mouthfeel of wine. He swipes the back of his hand against his lips after that, while looking at Aiden that, beside him on the bed, seems to totally ignore his laments. Even so, it's sweet of him not interrupting his long monologue. He's drunk, but not that drunk not to understand how boring he's being. He doesn't care. Aiden isn't complaining, so. “Now my last memory of him is him running after his sorceress, smelling exactly like her. It's not fair, because he should have smelled like <em>himself</em>, not like another. I loved his smell, and I still love it. I miss it so much.”</p><p>Aiden nods, as if he was actually hearing him, “Do go on, tell me more. Here, you finished yours.” he says, with a sweet voice, handing him his half–empty bottle of wine.</p><p>Jaskier accepts it, even if he pouts, “You're not helping.”</p><p>“Never said I would.”</p><p><em>Cruel</em>, he's just so cruel. Jaskier thinks that perhaps it's the lack of empathy, the lack of compassion what he needs to overcome his... loss, because he doesn't feel the pang of hurt with Aiden's words. This, or loneliness, so Jaskier guesses that it's better than nothing. Everything is better than his mind always stuck in grief, “You big meanie.” he says nonetheless, grabbing the bottle and taking a long drink. “What was I saying? Well, whatever. Do you know what he dared to say that day? <em>Don't go, Jaskier. Stay here, Jaskier. </em>As if I would stay closed there in a nowhere inn like an obedient puppy, while he was so blatantly going to fuck his new love in the room next to mine!”</p><p>“<em>Ouchie</em>.” Aiden comments, a tiny smile on his lips. His canines are slightly more pointy than the rest of his teeth. They remind him of Eskel's. “Why he wanted you to stay?”</p><p>“Fuck if I know.” Jaskier sniffs, “As you can see, I didn't do as he asked. But he had probably no good reasons, because even after months since then, he never fucking came home, nor he at least wrote me a stupid letter, or, or... I don't know, did something to show me that, even just a little, he still cared for me.” he finishes, lamely. With shame, he notices that his voice broke at the end of the sentence.</p><p>“Does he know you're here?”</p><p>“It's not really difficult to find me, considering that this is the house where we lived for <em>years</em>. If he even tried to search for me, he would start from the obvious: here. That's... that's why I'm here in the first place. Foolish, right? Hoping that he would come here to me.”</p><p>Aiden nods, “A bit, yeah. Between you and a stunning sorceress, well...”</p><p>Jaskier bursts out crying. Actually, it feels good. Refreshing, and liberating. He cried way too little during all this time. Tomorrow he will hate himself, because his brain will feel like he'd explode in a matter of moments, with the crying and the drinking, but right now it's alright. Sure, the snot and the tears are disgusting, and he certainly looks like a red, wet mess, but it's okay.</p><p>Aiden, though, panics, “Shit, fuck, sorry, don't– don't cry! It's just, uh, it's just that when I'm drunk I'm awfully honest, so–”</p><p>Jaskier cries way harder at that. It sounds like bullshit, because Aiden is a Witcher and Witchers can't get drunk after half a bottle of wine. He knows it from experience, after all.</p><p>Crying harder almost makes him choke on his own tears, so he coughs and then laughs wetly as Aiden frets over him, “Shit, fucking hell, Jaskier!” then he suddenly freezes, maybe because Jaskier has thrown off his breeches and underpants. “What the fuck, bard?”</p><p>“I'm horny.” Jaskier says, doing the same with his chemise, “Fuck me?”</p><p>“Didn't you say that we'd never fuck again?”</p><p>Jaskier shrugs, then he wipes away the tears with a feverishly swept of hands. With no little difficulty, he raises on his knees and tries to sit on Aiden's lap, “I say a lot of things, usually. You just got to know me in a blue moment of my life, but really, I spend the ninety nine percent of my waking hours talking, and if I'm to be honest, even the ninety nine percent of my sleeping ones. So, don't always pay attention to every, single thing I say, mostly I just blab inconsistently and incessantly to pass the time.”</p><p>“If you're sure,” Aiden's hands falls on his hips, steadying him while Jaskier unbuttons his trousers, “Be my guest.”</p><p>Jaskier frees his cock from the fabric of his underwear and strokes him slowly, from the tip 'til the base, where he stops, “I've no oils here, shit.”</p><p>“Eh, doesn't matter. How 'bout you use that tiny, cute mouth of yours? So you will also finally shut the fuck up. Then I'll let you come as many times as you wish,” Aiden wiggles his long fingers in front of Jaskier's face, grinning smugly, “I do have magic hands, y'know.”</p><p>“As long as you don't use signs on me.” Jaskier bends down and kisses his collarbone, then slides down, surpassing the bandages, and kisses his navel, nuzzling the curly hair trailing his belly. He moans at the distinct scent of his sex, and, eyeing at his cock, notices that it's already, slowly, leaking. His mouth waters. “Yes, fuck, I missed this.” murmurs, and his hand slipped on the blankets under them, as he licks away the drop of precome.</p><p>“Aren't you drunk?” asks Aiden. His hands are still steadying him, even if the position is now a bit awkward. Jaskier guesses that maybe he thinks that he's too inebriated to stand still and do his job.</p><p>“Not as much as to not wish for your cock to fuck hard my throat.”</p><p>Aiden hisses. He grabs his hair at his forehead and pulls, making Jaskier moans. Once Jaskier closes his lips around his cock, Aiden moves his hips, first slowly and then with a fast pace. Jaskier missed so much the sensation of a cock moving, growing, inside his mouth, feeling the tip brush against the back of his throat, sometime arriving too far and inducing then his gag reflex. He always loved blowjobs, mostly giving than receiving one, and going so long without was driving him crazy. And yet, now it doesn't seem to be enough. Oh well, he supposes he should take what he gets.</p><p>For a second, Jaskier stops his sucking and take Aiden's cock out of his mouth with a loud <em>pop</em>, “I also have magic hands, even if I'm a mere human.” he says. His voice come out rough – he's got unused to this, “Interested?”</p><p>“Do as you wish, bard. This is <em>your </em>coping mechanism, after all.”</p><p>Jaskier hisses, “You don't want to provoke me so close to your cock, believe me.”</p><p>Then, he puts two fingers into his mouth, wetting them until they're dripping saliva down his hand. All the while, Aiden's eyes never leave him, following almost feverishly his movements. When he feels like enough, Jaskier falls down on his cock again, sucking hard the tip and smiling when he heard the Witcher chocking down a moan. His fingers, then, find their right places against Aiden's hole, circling around the wrinkled skin without pushing inside. Yet.</p><p>Aiden tightens his grip on Jaskier's hair and pulls and moves his hips until his cock is all the way down Jaskier's throat. Jaskier feels the gag reflex, but for a couple of seconds he's able to ignore it, holding his breath as much as he can while Aiden groans and trembles under him. When Aiden opens his thighs more to push into Jaskier's mouth, Jaskier inserts his middle finger past Aiden's hole. Then coughs, and Aiden immediately drops him, taking his cock out of Jaskier so he can take a shuddering breath in.</p><p>“You okay?” asks Aiden, rubbing the side of Jaskier's mouth to wipe away a bit of drool.</p><p>Jaskier hums, and moves lazily the finger into Aiden, who hisses like a cat. Funny. He rests his face against the side of one of Aiden's thighs, catching his breath and enjoying the Witcher writhe under him. “Do I look like I'm not, mayhaps?” he asks, ignoring the tears running down his face and the saliva still linking him at Aiden's erection.</p><p>“You look like a mess.” deadpans Aiden, watching him with hooded eyes.</p><p>Jaskier smiles at him from below, “Then I'm perfectly fine.” he nips at the base of his cock, digging into him with curious fingers after, with care, the index finger joins the other. When he brushes against his prostate, Aiden's long legs jolt and he comes, pooling on his own belly, with a heavy sigh – <em>it's still too early, he still won't accept others spunk inside of him, if not Geralt's, even if he shouldn't care, he shouldn't care</em>.</p><p>Gods, not again. Jaskier, keep it cool, don't follow that road.</p><p>“C'mon, bard, up.” Aiden calls to him, making him fall on earth again. The Witcher is tapping his mouth and nudging at his leg. “Don't black out on me again, won't you? Let me taste that arse before you do that.”</p><p>Jaskier shakes slightly his head as, after taking his fingers out Aiden's arse, he crawls up to him until he sits on his face, knees on both sides of his head, digging heavy in the soft pillow. Aiden puts his hands on his thighs, tightens the little fat he has there – he used to have more, he used to be so much more attractive – and sinks his tongue in Jaskier's hole. “Lambert had been there a couple of times,” he huffs. Two can play the same game, after all. “Maybe you can still taste him.”</p><p>Aiden stops his movements and swallows, “Hardly. The scent is so faint.” Jaskier feels his teeth graze against the tender skin on his thigh, then noses at the hair covering his groin, “I can feel him, though. Did he fuck you hard and fast? Or slowly and steady?” he asks, right before pushing his tongue again through his sensible ring of muscles, lightening all his nerves.</p><p>“Deeper. H–<em>harder</em>.” Jaskier throws his head back, eyes closing, “Hard, he fucked me so, so hard!”</p><p>Aiden mumbles something that resembles a “<em>Lucky bastard,</em>” but, considering what his mouth is doing right now, Jaskier isn't sure if that's right or not. He doesn't care of that, instead he cares about the tongue in his arse, that's becoming more insistent, more wanting and, Gods, how much he likes that. He starts to stroke himself, first slowly – he doesn't want it to end too soon, it's been so long since he felt this way – then faster, tightening his grip at his tip. He writhes above Aiden, uncaring if he is smothering him or not. He is just taking what he can get now – even if he always wanted everything, even when he already had it.</p><p>He spills not much later, staining the back of the bed. A few shots get stuck in Aiden's hair, but he doesn't seem to care. He keeps lapping at his arse, following the last moments of his orgasm, then he grabs his thighs more firmly and throws him on the mattress next to him with an huff.</p><p>Jaskier looks at him stretching on the blankets, still uncaring of his dirty hair. Then he turns his head and eyes at him, through long, light lashes, “Still here among the common mortals?”</p><p>“Says the Witcher. Fuck you, though.” Jaskier stretches too. His limbs feels languidly sore, even if he hasn't really moved much. He's not so young anymore, uh. “You have really bad after sex–manner. I know it's way past midsummer and it's terribly hot outside, but I didn't think you wouldn't bear my vicinity so much as to throw me away with so much carelessness. Considering that you lightened the fireplace in the middle of summer, I thought you–”</p><p>Aiden sits up with a jolt, “It's past midsummer? Since <em>when</em>?”</p><p>Jaskier frowns, blinking, “I don't know, a couple of weeks? There was this celebration down the village for Belleteyn, but I didn't participate, the townsfolk would have surely wanted me to perform and I was definitely not in the mood to sing and dance around a pyre, but–”</p><p>Aiden interrupts him again, getting up from the bed and starting to dress awfully quickly, “Shit, I should have been already there. These three days weren't planned, fuck.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” asks Jaskier, also standing up. He feels sober, even if the headache isn't yet troubling him. He's already feeling the spirit of loneliness looming above him, as he watches Aiden getting ready to leave him. “You're leaving? But you're hurt!”</p><p>Aiden throws him a knowing look, with a single eyebrow raised, “I have nothing. You very well know that under the bandages there is only a charming scar, and you fretting over it is pretty useless.”</p><p>Consciously, Jaskier knows very well that. He knew that the moment Aiden woke up, alive and refreshed, and he knew that even before that, when that same morning he changed the bandages and there were just only a scar welcoming his touch, no more traces of the blood and the scab. “It's the middle of the night, Aiden! And you didn't even tell me what happened!”</p><p>“The sun will rise in an hour or so, worry not. About the contract, nothing much to say. It wasn't a werewolf, because it killed a sheep while I was in the woods and it wasn't a full moon night. Probably a curse, or a shapeshifter. Don't worry, though, it's dead.”</p><p>“If they were a cursed person, you could have saved them!”</p><p>“Yes, I could have. But sadly, I didn't have time, nor desire to do that. I've done my job, end of the story.” Once he buttons up his trousers and catches a shirt from his bag, he looks at Jaskier with a mean grin, “What, your Witcher would have saved it? Being the hero and all?”</p><p>“Yes, if he could.” Jaskier answers, without waiting a beat. And he has no doubt that Geralt would have done that also this time, if only he was here.</p><p>But he isn't. He isn't here.</p><p>Aiden clicks his tongue against pointy teeth, “Pity. The job was mine, sorry for the disappointment. Anyway, I have to go: a, uh, friend is waiting for me and I'm already late.”</p><p>Jaskier leans in the bed again, with a sigh. It's stupid trying to let him stay more, even if he doesn't want to be alone again. “Lambert, I guess. No wonder he doesn't want you, if every time you fuck him you leave him like you're now leaving me.” But he doesn't care, really. It's not like he's in love with Aiden or something, he probably wouldn't have even liked him if he met him when Geralt was still a solid rock in his life, but seeing another person's back turned at him, ready to run towards a lover and disregard him so carelessly, it hurts. A <em>lot</em>.</p><p>“I'd get offended, if only we've ever fucked.” Aiden shows him his teeth as he smiles. Then he grabs his swords, that probably one of the villagers leaned against the wall when they came here, and puts them on his back. Passing near him, still on the bed, he pats almost fondly his head, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, “Cruelty doesn't suit you, bardling. Heartbreak does.”</p><p>Jaskier grimaces, “You are such an arsehole.”</p><p>Aiden blows him a kiss, then goes. Jaskier doesn't even tell him about the stickiness of his hair – knowing Aiden, he probably is aware of his hair condition, and he doesn't clean himself just to spite him somehow, as if he wants to show him what they've done, and that he shouldn't regret it. Jaskier doesn't, really. It's just not enough.</p><p>He hears Aiden open the front door, then closing it, and nothing else.</p><p>The ghosts are strangely very quiet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Lambert</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>When his host finally shows himself at the entrance of the garden, that warmth suddenly freezes, then melts like metal caught in a blaze. What he feels stuck in his throat is probably an imminent cry.<br/>“Lambert?” he calls. He can't quite believe his eyes, that's why the sound of his voice comes out incredulous. “Is that you?”<br/>Lambert smiles with a happy expression. He opens his arms wide, as if telling him that he will gladly welcome him in his arms, as he walks towards him with his usual confidence. “Pest! There you are! What the fuck are you doing out there, uh?” Lambert says with his thunderous voice, and Gods, how much he missed it! His feels his lower lip tremble and, swallowing the knot that's chocking him, Jaskier runs towards him. “Omph,” Lambert fakes the hit when he hugs him, “Ah, did you miss me, pest? I knew that, deeper inside, I've always been you favourite.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Lambert comes in Corvo Bianco, and it's so unexpected that Jaskier almost thinks it's just a joke created by his fucked up mind. But no, Lambert is here, with him, and it's been Aiden that has brought him to Jaskier. So it's just Jaskier's duty to do something in return for Aiden, right?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>aaaand this is the second part, almost as long as the first chapter omg i'm so sorry that you must endure 30k of angst and melancholy and uh just jaskier being the dramatic bitch as always. anyway, i don't think i am totally over with this universe, i have another shot in mind - this time in yennefer's pov - but i don't know if it'll ever see the light of day, considering that not much people has read this fic lol.<br/>as always, sorry for the grammar/syntax mistakes! still no beta, still too many languages fucking with my capacities.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier knows how to give up.</p><p>He finds himself in the back garden for the first time since he came home, dressed lightly and definitely not suitable for gardening, and his heart breaks a little when his eyes fall on the dead flowers, the dry trees, the rotten fruits and vegetables. Jaskier remembers infinite mornings and evenings while he sunbathed naked in his bench and Geralt trimmed the rose bushes. Sometimes, Geralt came to him and brought him a rose, once red then blue then pink, just to see Jaskier blush under his neverending attentions.</p><p>He sighs, then stretches his shoulders – more to find the courage to move, than whatever else – and he goes closer to the garden after grabbing a bucket Geralt used to toss the weeds inside. He plans to do the same now, because he <em>wants </em>to give up Geralt, he really wants to, but– it's difficult. He guesses that if he start to do the things he has ignored because they make him remember him too much, he'll get over him, eventually. Cleaning, pruning and bringing back to life the garden Geralt has cherished so much while they were so in love, he hopes that he will be able to go on even whilst surrounded by good, fantastic, wonderful memories.</p><p>He picks up all the rotten fruits and vegetables on the ground, grimacing a bit at the squishy and slimy sensations on his fingers as he does that. He eyes at the buttercups and dandelions that weren't there a year ago, and now they cover most of the ground: he isn't really sure about tearing them off, Jaskier likes them and isn't it fitting? They're invading Geralt's garden as he's invading his house. Jaskier always felt bonded to those kind of weeds, after all.</p><p>They will be gone the moment Geralt comes back with the sorceress in tow to pass a romantic winter the two of them alone. And Jaskier will be gone along them.</p><p>Being alone isn't so bad, Jaskier thinks as he tears off the weeds that are killing the whole garden – apart from the dandelions and the buttercups. Aiden has left the week before, and finding himself in an empty house, surrounded by silence and nothing more, it's been difficult. But now he feels fine – sometimes, giving up on something is the only way to survive. Jaskier knows he's strong enough to be alone, and he's almost there– he's almost going back to normal. Even with the Geralt–shaped hole in his chest, he can find a way to breath again.</p><p>He finishes cleaning the garden that the sun is setting on the horizon. Wiping away the sweat that glistens on his forehead, he grabs the bucket full of weeds and rotten food, and heads towards the woods to throw that all away. After that, he goes back home, tired and hungry – he hasn't eaten nor drunk anything since breakfast, and he's starting to feel the weakness in his body and mind. Months of doing absolutely nothing if not laying in a bed are taking a toll on him, now, especially after working all day long under the burning sun of Toussaint.</p><p>The next days are passed in the same way, in a blur of green, yellow and dead brown. He starts to go down in the village again, first to the well, more times than before, to water the garden in absence of rain, then just to have a chat with the townsfolk again. They, fortunately, don't ask him about Geralt, and they don't ask him about Aiden either, and for that Jaskier is grateful.</p><p>Some of them gift him seeds, after Jaskier tells them how he's working in the gardens, and Jaskier, in the mornings, plants them. His goal, at the moment, is to see flowers and vegetables borne and live under his care, the same way the trees are making fresh fruit again. He still doesn't eat as much as he should and gather the loss weight, but he's starting to feel stronger. He, indeed, is assimilating more with all the fruits that's blooming in Geralt's – in <em>his –</em> garden and that he's eating while working.</p><p>He also finally cleans his bench, but he never finds himself in the right mood to sit there as he did before. There will be no one bringing him roses anymore, so what's the point?</p><p>Half a month after Aiden's gone from Corvo Bianco, it starts to get chilly. Not that it stops him from bringing the garden at his old splendor, but the nights becomes slightly longer, and that means that now Jaskier passes more time in bed, alone in the dark of his room. The upcoming winter makes him a bit sad, a bit lonely. Once, winters were so full of warmth...</p><p>He falls ill not long after.</p><p>He's not afraid of his health, because he knows that the fever and the tiredness are just symptoms of mornings passed under the sun, with sweat wetting his hair and clothes that dries with the chilly wind of the evenings. A common cold that will be gone in a matter of days, if he follows simple rules like eating broth and hot tea, like staying covered under a warm blanket in front of the fireplace, like asking the healer down in town to prepare him a concoction that will make him feel better.</p><p>Jaskier doesn't know how to do any of those things alone.</p><p>So, what a humble man in a dire situation like his could ever do? He just goes on with his life. He goes in the garden. He waters the plants. He trims the roses. He picks up a bouquet of dandelions and buttercups to decorate the house, just because he feels like it. He eats three apples at lunch. When he goes down in town when the sun sets, the inkeeper's wife prepares him a broth, even if she probably doesn't even know about his fever. Finally he goes to bed. He feels fine. He feels very tired.</p><p>One morning, he can't get up from his bed. His body is on fire and cold sweat wets the blankets and his clothes. He feels like shit, his nose is running and his eyes feels puffy and sticky. Jaskier always misses Geralt, but now... now he just misses having someone around, someone who would care for him, who would have forced him to take easy on his health, who would just tuck his furs around him in bed and nothing else.</p><p>He never felt so alone.</p><p> </p><p>He has never dreamed of Geralt. No matter what people say, about his wails and his cries during the long nights, Jaskier never has a nightmare about him that he remembers.</p><p>Under the feverishly numbness, this is the first night he dreams of him. When he wakes, he doesn't remember what it was about, but he feels his heart swell in his chest as it did every time his eyes fell on him in the mornings, laid naked next to him. Rarely sleeping, Geralt used to wake up way before Jaskier even started to stir, but in his imagination now, he thinks of him with his eyes closed, his breath even, his face smooth and relaxed.</p><p>Gods, how beautiful he was. <em>Gods</em>, how much Jaskier wants him, now, right now more than he ever did before.</p><p>His head hurts like after a beating, his <em>bones </em>hurt every time he moves. He would like to get up from the bed and clean himself, because he feels like shit, drenched in fever sweat, and he would like some water, because his mouth is dry as the lands of the Elves at the edge of the world – but he has not enough strength to move a single finger without the too grand amount of effort.</p><p>He doesn't know how long he stays like this – too long, probably. It feels like eternity. He's like having and extracorporeal experience even if he can feel way to much pain, sometimes he's trashing on that bed, sometimes he's under a blazing sun, sometimes he has Geralt's body heating his like he did almost every night spent outside of towns.</p><p>But it's too hot, he's burning him, he's putting him on fire!</p><p>Next time he wakes, there is something by his bed. He doesn't recognize them, but the figure seems to be a woman, maybe someone from the village. There is a wet, cold cloth propped on his forehead, and it's giving him so much relief that he moans without being able to stop himself. There is someone else in the house, and there is someone talking, and there is someone passing another wet cloth – not as cold as the other, unfortunately – over his body, and there is someone that's moving objects, and there is someone that, somehow, is quietening the noises in his head.</p><p>Someone helps him drink. Someone pushes liquid food into his mouth and helps him swallowing it. Someone gets mad at him because he strained himself too much. Someone rubs mint–scenting healing salves between his shoulder and chest, where the illness takes place like a boulder and makes it difficult to breath.</p><p>Three days later – they said, at least, but for Jaskier they felt like centuries –, he survives the fever. The worst is over. He's able to get up and stand on his legs, even if they wobble maybe too much still. He's able to see and hear again, and thanks profoundly the people that helped him, because without them, he... he probably would have died. No reason to sugarcoat the truth, after all. He is not a strong Witcher, and his body needs water and food and care and medicines he was not able to provide alone to himself.</p><p>But he survived. It should mean something.</p><p>He did it with the help of the villagers, of people acting out of generosity and hearts of gold, but not love. So, it means that he can survive without a loving one beside him – just, not alone. No one survives alone.</p><p>This is a lesson hard to comprehend, and even more hard to learn.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier is watering the plants when he hears them. They're just feet taking steps after steps on the dirt road on front of his house, but the noise they're making is strange, almost artificial: whoever they are, they are making noises on purpose, to probably let him hear them. He gets up from the crouched position he was in and stretches his sore body with his hand pushing on his lower back, before turning towards his house and waiting for whoever they are to show themselves.</p><p>He looks briefly at his dirty hands. They're probably someone from town to come and see how's doing and make sure that his fever went definitely down: if they see that he's already working in the garden, and they'll notice that his temperature is still a bit too warm, they will make him see hell and back. This thought makes him feel a warmth of a different nature pool in his chest.</p><p>When his host finally shows himself at the entrance of the garden, that warmth suddenly freezes, then melts like metal caught in a blaze. What he feels stuck in his throat is probably an imminent cry.</p><p>“Lambert?” he calls. He can't quite believe his eyes, that's why the sound of his voice comes out incredulous. “Is that you?”</p><p>Lambert smiles with a happy expression. He opens his arms wide, as if telling him that he will gladly welcome him in his arms, as he walks towards him with his usual confidence. “Pest! There you are! What the fuck are you doing out there, uh?” Lambert says with his thunderous voice, and Gods, how <em>much </em>he missed it! His feels his lower lip tremble and, swallowing the knot that's chocking him, Jaskier runs towards him. “<em>Omph</em>,” Lambert fakes the hit when he hugs him, “Ah, did you miss me, pest? I knew that, deeper inside, I've always been you favourite.”</p><p>“You have <em>no idea</em>, Lambert...” Jaskier says, and right in this moment he can't even find in himself the embarrassment when his voice breaks. He tights his grip on him, almost scared that if he lets go, he'll just disappear into thin air, like a dream.</p><p>He buries his hands in Lambert's hair, while the Witcher pats his back, carefully – he smells the same as he remembers, of burnt meet, of unwashed skin, of the Path. Opening his eyes – he didn't even notice when they fell closed – Jaskier sees Aiden walking towards them, slowly then Lambert has done. When their eyes meet, Aiden lowers them immediately after, scratching the back of his head. Jaskier thinks that if only he was able to blush, right now his face would turn into a deep red. His lip trembles again – Gods, he's brought Lambert <em>to him</em>.</p><p>Lambert grunts and grabs his shoulders, pushing him off. He still touches him with a care so foreign of him, as if scared of breaking him at the minimum pressure. “You're <em>burning</em>, fuck!” he snaps, sounding angry somehow, “Are you ill?”</p><p>“I just had a fever, nothing more.” he replies, hands still on him. He doesn't want to let go, not <em>yet</em>. “Now I'm fine, I've just been under the sun all morning, that's why–”</p><p>“You're a fucking <em>idiot</em>.”</p><p>“He has a tan, now.” says Aiden, “You should have seen him a month ago: if you looked at him in the dark, you would have mistaken him for a wraith. He glowed in a very spectral way.”</p><p>Jaskier chuckles, “You're exaggerating.” then he sighs, “I missed your sweet talking, too.”</p><p>He hugs him with definitely less fervor, but he hopes that it's showing the gratitude he's feeling towards him nonetheless. Aiden tenses at the gesture, but he melts relatively soon: he probably wasn't expecting that from him, with Lambert there. It's kind of sweet, really. “Sweet fuck, you really are hot.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles, letting him go. “I know I'm sexy, thank you.”</p><p>Aiden grimaces, passing two fingers on his sweaty forehead, “Wasn't a compliment. Shall we go inside, before you collapse in the dirt?”</p><p>Lambert slings an arm around his shoulders as they head together back home, and Jaskier likes to think that it's just because he's being strangely affectionate, rather than to steady him. The sun is still high in the sky, it's probably near midday, it seems, as he looks up at its position: he feels a bit guilty in leaving the garden in that condition, especially after days since the last time he has taken care of it, but he guesses that he deserves a break, now. Also, he has hosts to think about.</p><p>He sits on a chair in the kitchen, with a heavy sigh. Lambert follows him, positioning himself in the other side of the table, while Aiden looks around the room with raised eyebrows. He's probably noticing the changes Jaskier's done during the last month, “Nice,” he comments, grabbing one of the apples he has in the basket on the kitchen counter. He chuckles when the rest of the apples fall from the counter, and Aiden swears as he tries to catch them all before they hit the ground.</p><p>“So,” Lambert starts, pulling off his eyes from Aiden and placing them on Jaskier, “What the fuck happened?” he asks, bluntly, slamming a hand on the wooden table.</p><p>Jaskier bites his lower lip, and ignores the question: “What are you doing here? To be honest, I wasn't expecting you. Well, <em>neither</em> of you.” he says, eyeing Aiden that has now three apples cradled against his chest and another in his mouth.</p><p>Lambert shrugs, “We were passing by, right Aiden?” Aiden nods, and doesn't answer with words, too occupied in munching his food. “And I thought: why don't we go make a visit to the cutest in–law in the whole Continent? Especially after Aiden told me how you saved his life last month.”</p><p>Jaskier would have smiled at the amused tone used by Lambert, but instead he flinches hard. He has no hope that they didn't noticed it, because unfortunately they are too observant thanks to their enhanced senses and all, but he couldn't help it: he's no one's in–law, after all. “Well, here I am, dear. I'm kinda surprised Aiden has actually told you about that: I would have expected him to deny that with all his heart, considering that he didn't even thank me for that.”</p><p>Aiden bristles and throws the eaten to the core apple on the floor, “It's because I wasn't dying. And I never said that he saved my life!” he hisses at Lambert, that ignores him.</p><p>“He's a Cat. Never expect gratitude from his kind.” says Lambert, while Aiden splutters next to him. It's nice seeing them so close. Aiden is actually even restraining himself: since they've met, not even a cruel word fell from his lips. Jaskier would think it adorable seeing him so drown to Lambert, but instead it makes his heart quiver, and not in a good way. “Jaskier,” Lambert calls his name, then, turning serious. Jaskier knows what Lambert wants to know, and he should stop beating around the bush, but... Gods. “Why Geralt isn't here?”</p><p>“You didn't tell him?” Jaskier asks Aiden, who grimaces.</p><p>Lambert interrupts him before he can answer, “He did, but I want to hear it from you.”</p><p>“That's why you're here, Lambert? You want to know what I've done to drive Geralt away? I guess that Eskel isn't here with you because of this, right?”</p><p>Lambert breathes in angrily, but he doesn't answer him.</p><p>“I...” Jaskier swallows, lowering his eyes. He prefers looking at the lines of the table, and the hundreds traces left during the years by him and by Geralt. There is a stain that makes the wood in a darker colour compared to the rest, and Jaskier remembers that it's been Lambert's fault when, a year ago, he put on fire a piece of meat in order to cook it. “<em>We</em> found a Djinn in a river, I think... four months ago. Sorry, I'm a bit confused about time, lately.” he sniffs, and scratches the stain, not hoping that it goes away. It never did, and it won't now. “It attacked me, because of course it did. I was the weaker and defenseless one, I kind of understand it for that: it wasn't stupid enough to attack the full armored, full armed Witcher. Anyway, it... I don't know what it did, because after that it's all a blur of pain, and I kept falling in and out of conscious, so forgive me if I can't fully explain how I find myself waking up in a very comfortable bed, safe and sound, with Geralt... fucking the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my entire life in the next room. Yennefer of Vengerberg is her name, a powerful and evil sorceress that has surely bewitched him with her lovely curves and venomous tongue.”</p><p>Jaskier raises his eyes, at last, and he sees Lambert frowning. “That's all?”</p><p>“What were you expecting? Of course,” Jaskier stands up on wobbly legs. He really shouldn't have stayed all morning in the garden the first day after a bad fever. “Of course, <em>I</em> am the whore, right? It was more expected of me something like that. I am the one who loves sex, who wants to fuck every single breathing human being, the one who wanted and fucked his brothers, that's obvious, isn't that?”</p><p>Lambert growls, “That's not what I said!”</p><p>“But that's what you think, right? Geralt would not do something like that, uh?”</p><p>“Yeah sure, we're talking of the same brother of mine who didn't even send a fucking letter to us to let us know he was at least alive. The same man who didn't even think about us back in Kaer Morhen when he decided to live his domestic life with you.” snaps Lambert, slamming again a punch on the table, this time very hard. Jaskier feels dizzy, probably because his temperature is starting to get high again. “But I know Geralt, and I tell you for sure that he doesn't do this shit on purpose. He doesn't do this shit to hurt, he just doesn't fucking think with his stupid fucking mind–”</p><p>“I know.” Jaskier interrupts him, leaning against the table. He closes his eyes – before doing that, he sees with the corner of his eyes Aiden getting closer to him, “I don't blame him for anything. It just... hurts. Not because he fucked her, I don't care about that, he could fuck the whole world as long as he still loved <em>me</em>, but... he doesn't anymore. He said so himself very clearly.”</p><p>“What did he say?”</p><p>Jaskier shrugs. He feels kinda numb, now. “Nothing much. He brought me in an inn in Rinde, and there he said that he would answer all my questions. Hell, he said that it was to <em>save </em>her. Isn't it pathetic? It's a pathetic excuse. But still, I really <em>don't care </em>about the fuck, I'm telling the truth! When I asked him if he still loved me, he cursed, got up and run after his sorceress and it was <em>that</em>, that... broke me. And enough of an answer. It was the last time I saw of him.”</p><p>Lambert throws his hands to the air, “That fucker!”</p><p>“Do not be angry with him, Lambert. I am not! I'm not angry, at all, if that was what makes him happy, it's completely fine! I'm just... sad,” he says, and the words taste ashy in his mouth. They're not lies, but they sound... duller than he actually means. “I am slowly getting used to this, worry not. Anyway, I'm very happy to see you here, because I thought that I would never see you and Eskel ever again. Well, not that I will see Eskel, it seems, but I'm glad that at least you...” <em>don't hate me</em>, he wants to end the sentence, but the words get stuck in his throat. He clears it, but it still doesn't work.</p><p>Aiden claps suddenly his hands, and Jaskier jolts at the sound. He is so close, just right next to him. “<em>Hooray</em>, this has been dramatic enough, don't you think, bardling?”</p><p>“I would say <em>tiring</em>.” he says, with a sigh. Aiden brings a hand on his lower back, and pushes him towards the door of his room, while Lambert stays sit by the table, fuming and grinding his teeth, lost in whatever thought he's having. Jaskier really doesn't want Lambert to hate Geralt, far from it actually, but... it's nice to know that someone is by his side in this. He would have never expected that – no one's ever been, apart from Geralt.</p><p>“C'mon, before you collapse.”</p><p>He lays on his bed with a shiver, Aiden looking at him from the doorstep, with arms crossed and pursued lips. He feels tired, numb and drained – he doesn't even know where he has found the strength to talk about what happened in Rinde, but he feels a wave of pride towards himself: he's finally getting <em>better</em>. It makes him sad, this will always make him sad, but he's able now to go on.</p><p>That's why he smiles at Aiden, and says, “Thank you for bringing Lambert here. I know I already told you this, but I'm very glad you did. I really needed a friendly face, even for just a while.”</p><p>“Don't thank me, it was his idea to come here. He's ready to be your defender or something.”</p><p>“Do not be jealous,” Jaskier chuckles, burying himself more under the furs, “Still, he would not be here to be my defender – that I need him not to, please tell him that – if you kept shut about your time here.”</p><p>Aiden shrugs, “I guess you owe me one, then.”</p><p>“I will help you, don't worry.” Jaskier yawns, shivering once more, “But after the fever goes down. Melitele's tits, I really shouldn't have worked in the garden today.”</p><p>“I don't know 'bout what you should help me, but whatever.” Aiden crouches at his bedside. In a passing thought, Jaskier thinks that now their positions are reversed – Jaskier used to stay right there while taking care of him after his hunt gone bad. “I know nothing about human care, but you didn't really take it easy on yourself, uh? You have a disgustingly self–destructive way to cope with heartbreak.”</p><p>“This isn't coping. I mean,” he chuckles again when Aiden raises a eyebrow, “I was mostly thinking about my mental state, so I forgot to think about my physical. Really, now I'm <em>waaay</em> better than a couple of days ago, it's just a passing illness, nothing more.”</p><p>“As far as I know, passing illnesses could be deadly. Not that it's my business, but Lambert wouldn't be happy.”</p><p>Jaskier hums, closing his eyes. He feels like floating, his head filled with cotton. It's not as bad as these past days; his heart feels lighter in his chest even if he still has his cheeks wet. He can't hear Aiden moving in the room – if he's moving at all – and he can't hear what he's saying – if he's talking at all –, he just floats into a resting sleep, hating just a little bit less his weaknesses and his fucked up mind.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier wakes when it's dark outside. He feels well rested, even if a bit sore in his chest and eyes, but the cottony–sensation seems to be gone, thankfully without leaving an annoying headache in its place. He's alone, as expected, but he remembers the arrival of Lambert and Aiden, so he doesn't feel so alone. He just hopes that they haven't left while he was sleeping.</p><p>Throwing away the blankets and furs, he gets up and cleans himself just enough not to stink. When he gets closer to the door, he barely hears someone moving from the other side. He hears Aiden's voice and Lambert's grunts in reply, but they're talking too low for him to understand their words. There is a faint delicate smell, like chamomile.</p><p>“Rise and shine, pest!” Lambert welcomes him, when Jaskier enters in the kitchen, “I sent Aiden downtown to ask what to do about your, uh, illness, and they said to prepare you broth and infusions. Here, start with this.” he says, placing on the table in front of him a steaming mug – the chamomile aroma coming from it in delicious waves.</p><p>Jaskier sits in his chair and grabs the mug, eyes Aiden that, with a frown, is looking inside the pot hovering above the embers. He isn't sure of what's inside, but the smell isn't foul, so at least it's nothing burnt. Aiden doesn't seem convinced, though.</p><p>He sips the tea, and hums in awe as it tastes almost the same as he makes it. It's been a while since he drank chamomile – he used to drink a lot, because it calmed him, it helped him relax his limbs and mind; but since the day he put foot again in this house, he never prepared it. He doesn't really know why. “It's good!”</p><p>“You sound surprised,” huffs Lambert, “You let me drink this shit for a whole week. I can make it with my eyes closed.”</p><p>“I sound surprised because I am. I expected it to taste burnt, as everything you cook.”</p><p>Aiden snorts, “You probably would have with the soup, if I wasn't here.”</p><p>Jaskier laughs while Lambert splutters. It's nice, he feels so calm. Maybe, maybe all he needed – all he still needs – is just not to be alone. He probably would have gotten over everything sooner – or at least just felt better, because deep down he knows that he will never get over Geralt. He will learn to live with the loss of him, he will accept it because he can't do otherwise, but he'll never get over him.</p><p>Feeling his body react at the two Witcher's bickering, he's almost sure that if only he had a family to go back to, friends to cheer him up, siblings to get sad along him, now... now he would be fine. Instead, he's been so, so alone. If it wasn't for the townsfolk, he would have been dead–</p><p>“Blacked out again?”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, and Aiden appears in front of him, with his pupils too yellow and with his kohl still smudged around his eyes. “No, no, I'm fine. I was just... lost in thoughts.” he shakes his head and takes another sip, slowly, enjoying the hot liquid slide down his throat, “What did the villagers say? I bet they were angry my temperature's got high again.”</p><p>“Yes, and they took it out on me!” Aiden groans, rolling his eyes, “They started to give me the blame, saying that it was my fault that you got up from rest and fell ill again, can you believe it? I felt chastised like a child found deep–hands in jam.”</p><p>Jaskier gasps, “Sacrilege!”</p><p>“Mock me as much as you want, bard. See if next time you'll find a comestible hot meal served on the table without my supervision.” Aiden raises his chin up, in a condescending way. But he tenses slightly when Lambert flickers his nose, as he reaches them with two steaming bowls.</p><p>Aiden puts his fingers on the place Lambert touched, lowering his face as not to let Lambert see his expression. Jaskier has never been a great observer, he much prefers to hear and listen – it was Geralt's prerogative to be the one too observant – but, in his humble opinion, what's so clearly written in Aiden's face is not just longing, is not just a love so fickle, almost in an adolescent way in the novelty of it. Considering that just a touch so simple and friendly as that has made him so flustered, Aiden is so utterly, so profoundly... well, <em>fucked</em>. Jaskier doesn't know how to take that knowledge, though. Back when things were easier, he would have loved to be the cupid that brought love anywhere, to anyone – but now, now he's so devoid of it that he doesn't know if he's able to do anything at all.</p><p>Jaskier clears his throat and looks down a the soup under his nose, “This smells delicious,” he says, smiling, “But I don't feel very hungry.”</p><p>“Bullshit. Eat!” Lambert orders, frowning, looking at him up and down, as if just now he has noticed how thin he is compared to their last meeting, “You're skin and bones.” he says, in fact.</p><p>Aiden snorts, finally raising his head, “He was way worse for wear last time.”</p><p>Jaskier grimaces, “It's false and you know it!”</p><p>“He wailed during the nights, and blacked out during the days.”</p><p>“That is...” Jaskier grits his teeth, “Not quite true.”</p><p>“Geralt talked about your... breakdowns to us, last summer. Not with much words, as fucking always.” says Lambert, sitting in front of him, mirroring the same position they were that same morning, “You still have them?”</p><p>“I–” he briefly thinks about lying, but Aiden has been a spectator when his mind crumpled – no matter what they were doing and how much he was distracted, his anxiety and panic and nausea has been way too evident in those times. So, it would be completely useless now to lie. “Yes. Sometimes. It's... harder, without Geralt's help. Well, with anyone's help really.” he adds, immediately. He should stop trying to give Geralt the blame, he has his damned life! He can't stop living it just because he has to cure whatever plagues his broken head. “But it's getting better! I just need time, that's all. I am very strong, even if I don't look like it.”</p><p>“You look life a leaf, right now.” says Aiden, while Lambert frowns and just clenches his hand into a fist, “Just eat that soup Lambert has prepared for you with so much care now, won't you?”</p><p>Jaskier grins, than points at the other bowl on the table, “He has prepared it for you, too.”</p><p>Aiden grunts, “No, that's his.”</p><p>“No, it's yours.” mumbles Lambert, scratching his stubble as he glares at the ground, probably getting angry again in his behalf. Jaskier really doesn't want that, he doesn't want to bring Lambert against Geralt – it's not fair, at all, he's like a little brother to Geralt! – so, before they depart again for whatever is their next destination, Jaskier has to talk with him and convince him not to hate Geralt, not to be mad at him, not to give him the blame for Jaskier's health. “I've already eaten half pot while cooking.”</p><p>Aiden blinks, then reaches the bowls, “Ah. Thanks.”</p><p>They both eat in silence, while Lambert broods. The soup is really good, even if it lacks of seasoning – but he doesn't say anything, because for him it's like the best food he has ever eaten. Slowly, he's able to eat 'til the last drop, feeling his belly full for the first time since what feels like forever. With the corner of his eyes, he catches Lambert trying to say something, but stopping before anything comes out of his mouth. Probably he still has questions, Jaskier muses, but he's maybe trying to refrain himself for now, scared of Jaskier's reactions. That's silly, isn't it? A Witcher scared of Jaskier's weakened state.</p><p>At last, after Jaskier has finished eating, Lambert blurts out, “Why you don't sleep in your room anymore? This morning Aiden didn't accompany you upstairs.”</p><p>“I didn't clean that room.” Jaskier says, and it's technically not even a lie. Just an half–truth.</p><p>“Mh,” Lambert hums, and Jaskier feels a strange pain in his chest at that sound: Gods, it's so similar to Geralt's grunts – it's low, gruff, and it makes Jaskier skip a beat. He tries not to let this distract him too much: after all, there is <em>Lambert </em>in front of him, not Geralt. There is Aiden seated in the chair beside his, not Geralt, even if their smell is almost similar, even if their grunts and eyes are almost similar, they are still... <em>not the same</em>. “Alright,” the Witcher murmurs, shrugging, “I'm done. I will never understand it.”</p><p>What he doesn't understand, Jaskier does not know, and he does not ask.</p><p>“Good. Perfect,” Aiden claps his hands, getting up and abandoning his empty bowl on the kitchen counter. Jaskier mimics his gestures, as he hears him say: “Let's please stop talking about your brother for one fuckin' day, this is gettin' on my nerves and it's depressing me. You, bard, are still burning with fever, and we, Lambert, didn't sleep for the past four days. I don't want to test my own patience with this argument any more than necessary.”</p><p>“You two can go to bed. I slept all day, so now I don't really need to, and even if sleep eventually will come to me, you both know that the couch is enough comfortable for a single man. Not two.” Jaskier prompts, and he refrains himself on time and doesn't wink at Aiden. He may not be good enough at the cupid–thing anymore, but letting them sleep in a bed together seem to be a good start. Also, he isn't really in the mood to be present at their eventual lovey–dovey make out session.</p><p>The Witchers look at each other – Aiden seems to be slightly panicking, but it could be just his imagination –, then Lambert shrugs again, “Tomorrow we're going to clean your fucking room. You are not going to sleep in the couch for the rest of our staying! And also we'll go hunting for meat, so you'll eat something more than...” he gestures harshly at the empty bowls, “Water.”</p><p>“Oh. You will not... go back to the Path tomorrow?” Jaskier wasn't expecting this – his heart swells with hope, though. He really doesn't want to be alone again. “There's nothing to do here. Not that I want you gone, far from it, but I don't see why you would want to stay.”</p><p>“Can't we be here just for you?” Aiden snorts, “He let me run throughout the Continent for a whole week to come here as soon as possible. I am not goin' to travel again immediately the day after! Not before I sleep for the next ten days. <em>At least</em>.”</p><p>Ten days. <em>Ten days</em>. “You can stay as long as you want.” says Jaskier, “You, Lambert, can go again down in the distillery to prepare your alcohol – and you, Aiden... you can come with me in the garden...? I didn't take care of it for days because of the fever, and the bad weather didn't help. Or... well, you could simply stay lounging in front of the fireplace, I don't mind.”</p><p>Aiden smirks, “Tempting.”</p><p>Before they retreat in the guest room, Lambert makes sure that the fireplace is lit, even if the embers are low. He throws a weak <em>igni</em> at the wood, and he raises a knowingly eyebrow at Jaskier as he shivers. Some things never change, like his reactions whenever a Witcher uses his signs – at Lambert's expression, though, he seems to be relieved to know that, for reasons Jaskier does not understand.</p><p>He wraps his body into a fur that smells a bit stale, then settles himself on the couch, with his knees against his chest and his arms hugging his legs. Looking at the yellow, red and orange flames warming his face, he's almost resigned in passing all night wide away, lost in thoughts and memories, now that the cotton filling his brain is disappeared. But he can't find the strength to be desperate about anything, right now – on the contrary, he feels so, so happy that, ever for a couple of weeks, he won't be alone. He was getting used to the loneliness, it's true, but, of course, much prefers to have someone beside him.</p><p>He dozes off for a bit just some hours before dawn, and he's half awake when Lambert and Aiden wakes up and, without uttering a word – probably as not to risk also waking him up – gets out of the house. Jaskier feels better, the illness must be completely off his body, because he can't even feel the numbness in his limbs and his mind seems to be finally cleared off of the fever fog; so he gets up and folds the fur, uses the loo, then he goes to clean himself in the washbasin back in the room – that he has expected to be used, and consequently go to the well to fetch more clean water, but it's as crystalline clear as the day the villagers have brought it in to him.</p><p>When he's done, he grabs the washbasin and goes into the garden, throwing the water into the ground so the plants and the flowers and the trees can absorb it. Now that he looks better at his garden, there is not much to do apart water it some more – yesterday it all looked like a disaster, but now Jaskier thinks that it was just hallucinations caused by the high temperature.</p><p>He distractedly thinks if Geralt would be proud of how he has taken care of the garden in his absence – or if he recriminates how he has ignored his winery and the second floor of the house.</p><p>On the way down to the well, Lambert and Aiden find him. “Where are you going, pest?” asks Lambert. He has a big boar up his shoulders that's bleeding all the way down his armored chest, and with a grimace Jaskier wonders where the fuck he has found a boar here. He has never seen one!</p><p>“I'm going fetch water from the well. Anyway, this seems like a <em>deja–vu</em>.” murmurs Jaskier, “Please, don't let it bleed on the floor, and don't put it on fire on the kitchen table.”</p><p>Lambert rolls his eyes and pats the back of the dead animal, “Why don't you supervise me, then?” he says, with a sarcastic voice, “Leave that to Aiden, he goes fetch the water. You come with me back home.”</p><p>“I am not your servant, Wolf.” Aiden hisses, but, regardless of his words, he grabs harshly his washbasin from his hands and turns around, “Sweet mother of <em>fuck</em>.” he curses, and keeps cursing until Jaskier can't hear him anymore. Well, it must be very frustrating not being able to say no to Lambert just because of love.</p><p>Jaskier would almost pity him, if he does not envy him so much.</p><p>At home, Lambert drops the carcass on the table, and Jaskier sighs looking at the mess. It really resembles that scene of the summer of a year ago, with Eskel laid on the couch after healing from his wound, Geralt with him, and Lambert in the same position as he is now, skinning and disemboweling a... was that a deer, back then? He does not remember. What he remembers, though, is the blood and the laughs and the burnt meat, the full bellies and the songs afterwords and the dances and the stories and the love–makings.</p><p>“So,” starts Lambert, staring at him while, with quick and skilled gestures, cuts the meat with his dagger, “You fucked Aiden.”</p><p>Jaskier is sitting on a chair watching him, and for a second he doesn't know how to react because he can't read anything in his blank expression. “Uh, yes. Does that bother you?”</p><p>Lambert shrugs, “Why should I be bothered by it? On the contrary, I'm glad that this whole thing didn't change you completely. You're way too fucking quiet.”</p><p>Jaskier does not find the courage to tell him that the sex with Aiden has been very different than the sex with him and Eskel, and than obviously the love with Geralt. “Did Aiden tell you?”</p><p>“No. I just smelled your spunks on the bed, and unfortunately I'm not as oblivious as my dearest brother. Tell me, Jaskier, did that help you?” Lambert pulls the dagger out of the carcass, and drops of blood splotches on his face. He does not seem to be bothered by it at all. “I know Aiden for a long time, and I know he can be... crude. With words mostly, sometimes with gestures. He's cynical, lazy and cruel.”</p><p>“Not with you, though.”</p><p>Lambert seems to be thinking about that for a couple of seconds, before responding, “Yeah. 'Cause my charms.” they both laugh at that, “I just know him for a long time. I would say that I pass more time with him than the others. We travel together our Paths, and sometimes we also stay the winters when I'm not able to reach Kaer Morhen in time. I...” Lambert frowns, and looks down at his bloody hands, “I grew up more with him than I've ever done with Vesemir; after all, he's been a Witcher way before I was even born, but he acts like a damned teenager.”</p><p>“<em>Sooo</em> he's an elder! Old age has made him cranky.”</p><p>“Not fucking enough! As I said, he acts like a sixteen years old. <em>At best</em>.” Lambert sighs, then grabs a towel and wipes his hands, “Well? How was he with you?”</p><p>“Do worry not, dearest. It did not help me, but it wasn't because of his... crudeness. I'm saying the truth! I just guess that, with time, sex will become easy again for me. After all, there are so many people to fuck, it's not really fair for me to renounce such a joy.” Jaskier starts fidgeting, feeling his fingers sticky with blood even if they aren't even close to the boar's dead body. “With Aiden was a start. It will help, in the long run, I hope. I will get Geralt out of my system, eventually.”</p><p>“That's my pest!” Lambert exults, and ruffles his hair. Jaskier grimaces, because Lambert's fingers are not clean fingers, but the gesture warms him the same, “And if you want help with this, I offer myself to fuck you 'til next year, even to just spite Geralt.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles, bitterly, “Geralt would not care.” then, suddenly something blinks in his mind, like a candle lit, like an idea. “But I'll keep your offer in mind, maybe for tonight.”</p><p>Lambert raises an eyebrow, looking at him curiously with his warm, mischievous eyes. He is not able to ask more, because they both hear Aiden getting back from the well. Then they hear Aiden complain about the villagers, then they eat the meat Lambert cooks with Aiden's eyes controlling that he doesn't put anything on fire, then they talk some more and Jaskier hears their stories as if he's hungry of knowledge and adventures – and maybe he is, he still is, despite it all.</p><p>He shakes his head at Lambert's requests for songs, but he promises him that one day, one day he'll sing again, he'll play his adored lute once again, he'll smile as he dances while patrons clap around him again. Just, not today.</p><p>Not today.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier won't fuck Lambert, even if he has implied something of the sorts. He won't, no matter how much he loved having sex with him back then – sex with Lambert will bring more memories, more ghosts hunting him, more than Aiden has ever done. There will come the ghost of Geralt watching them with hungry eyes from a corner of the room, drinking his every moan and every Lambert's thrust in him, not touching himself until Jaskier is ready to pleasure him himself with his mouth or fingers or hole.</p><p>Jaskier is starting to coexist with those ghosts just now. He won't ruin all his progress for a single fuck.</p><p>But he promised Aiden that he would help him, and of course, what's better than helping him with his pathetic love life? Lambert is as oblivious – even if he says otherwise – as was Geralt too many years ago, and Aiden is as lovesick as <em>he</em> was too many years ago, so he knows what to try to rock the boat between them. Jaskier is not good at love anymore, but he can at least try, for the two people that helped him so much, that push away the loneliness off him with just their presence, that he is starting to... love them, in his own, new fucked up way.</p><p>Not like he loves Geralt. Never like Geralt – but similar.</p><p>After making sure that Jaskier's fever went definitely down, Lambert forces him to go upstairs. The smell is stale, and the master room is covered in dust, swallowed by the dark as the light of the day is banned out by the barred windows. Jaskier can't see much, but just following the so familiar trail that he used to walk every night, hand in hand with Geralt – and now hand in hand with Lambert, even if it's not romantic at all considering that he's pulling him with no grace at all.</p><p>Aiden clears the windows, so the lights finally illuminate the room. It's all as Jaskier remembers, with his big, soft bed neatly done, with his oils and soaps on the nightstands, with the creamy armchair in the corner, with the mirror of the vanity where Jaskier used to comb his hair for hours. Jaskier doesn't feel the knot tightening his throat as he expected, but just a neverending melancholy.</p><p>He and Lambert clean the room while Aiden lounges on the armchair, watching them as they work. His mind is mostly blank, as it was when he started taking care of the garden, and maybe that's his way to endure what he misses so much, his coping mechanism – as Aiden would say. At least he's not indirectly hurting himself, like this.</p><p>“We should stay here tonight,” says Jaskier, when they are done. The room is not as perfect as it was, because it misses something, but it's fine. It could be worse.</p><p>Aiden raises an eyebrow, with black–colored hooded lids, “<em>We</em>?”</p><p>Indeed, after dinner, Jaskier brings the two of them there. Lambert probably knows what's going on, because he looks like a child celebrating his nameday, thinking probably in a very stupid way that fucking Jaskier on his bed would spite Geralt in someway, get a revenge in Jaskier's behalf. It's stupidly adorable – but still pretty stupid.</p><p>Aiden, though, looks like a deer caught in a flash of unknown light – his face is showing a lost vulnerability that Jaskier has never seen on a Witcher's expression, even if he probably has talked with Lambert before of this while Jaskier wasn't hearing. And when Jaskier starts to talk, his eyes widen in confusion, and, behind Lambert, he shakes his head like a madman. “Lambert,” Jaskier says, ignoring the other Witcher, “you know my... you know the things I like, uh? I don't really feel like doing much, tonight, and a threesome would be... maybe <em>too much</em>. So, I want to propose something... easy for now. Easy for me, at least.” he chuckles. Lambert looks at him not understanding; Aiden is panicking, maybe understanding way too well. “You know that I also like to watch, yeah? So, what about I just sit there on the armchair, and... watch you two?”</p><p>Lambert bristles, “What? The fuck?”</p><p>“The fuck, indeed.” nods Jaskier, fighting the smile that threatens to bloom on his face. He's starting to like the act of cupid again, if he concentrates on their exhilarate expressions and not much else. “I know that you wanted to fuck me, but there will be time for that, yeah? Obviously, if you're both up to it, of course.”</p><p>Lambert frowns, then turns to look at Aiden over his shoulder – Aiden is gazing back at him with still wide eyes and wide pupils, but Jaskier doubts Lambert is asking himself why. “What do you think?”</p><p>“Uh, sure, why not.”</p><p>Jaskier sits on the armchair, with his legs slightly open and his hands resting on his belly, over his clothes – he doesn't get undressed, his nakedness isn't into his plan. All that needs to be bare, right now, are the Witchers' arses. For reason he's starting to recognize, Jaskier's mouth waters just at the thought of it. It must be an evidence of his progresses; there isn't just Geralt's body clouding Jaskier's desires, and even if he doesn't feel like doing much, he's feeling the same passion of his old same but in a more quiet way, burning in his chest and lower belly like a newborn baby brought to life.</p><p>“Well, this is awkward,” says Aiden with a light tone, when both Witchers just look at each other of a couple of long minutes, without doing much more than standing in the middle of the room, not quite close to the bed but close enough to make Jaskier fret with anticipation. Then, Aiden sighs, and Jaskier recognizes the sudden twinkle sparkling in his yellow eyes: that means he doesn't want to lose that <em>chance</em>. “How about we start with this, Wolfie?” he proposes, as he takes off his shirt with a swift move. The scar from the werewolf – that wasn't a werewolf, wasn't it? It was a man, a man that Aiden didn't help, a man that Geralt <em>would </em>have helped – looks like years old and not barely weeks, and Lambert's eyes, scanning all of Aiden's lithe chest, dwell on it for far too long.</p><p>“Don't call me that, Cat.” responds Lambert, a sudden fire of something akin of <em>want</em> written in his open, feisty expression.</p><p>“Do you prefer <em>Lamb</em>, mayhaps?” asks Jaskier, chuckling breathlessly.</p><p>Lambert growls, and tears off his own clothes in anger, “Did you tell <em>him</em>?! Did you call me like that with <em>him hearing</em>?!”</p><p>Aiden's hands find their way to Lambert's neck, fingers pressed against his nape as dear life, as he murmurs to Lambert's twisted lips, “<em>Yes</em>,” before kissing him voraciously, and Lambert doesn't pull off, no, he accepts the kiss like a fight, mouthing at Aiden's tongue and pushing inside his mouth almost vehemently, and Aiden moans, tightening the grip he has on him.</p><p>They both are <em>perfect</em> together, muses Jaskier as he watches them in silence. Aiden is quite taller than Lambert, he tilts his head to deepen the kiss and reach the right spot inside his mouth. Lambert, instead, is broader, his back and chest wider than Aiden's, covered in crisscrossed scars almost matching the ones drawn on Aiden. They really are complementary, as he always thought – in body as they are in soul, it seems. They are a beautiful sight to admire, but from afar or the risk to break something barely born is still too real and tangible – and Jaskier no, doesn't want that.</p><p>He wants at least them will be happy one day as he was, but without anyone breaking what they have so dear, so precious. Jaskier's always been an hopeless romantic.</p><p>They tumble on the bed. Aiden is on top of Lambert, kneecaps buried into the furs at the sides of Lambert's waist, he keeps on kissing him like a thirsty man in front of a tankard of the sweetest wine. Sadly they are still in their small clothes, so when Aiden sits on his lap it's not much a big deal even if their erection are clearly visible, tenting the material under the pressure. Less evident than theirs, also Jaskier's cock starts growing inside his pants, but he's able to ignore it for now, too hypnotized by the Witchers' dance of love.</p><p>But at one point, Lambert stops, “Uh,” he groans as Aiden doesn't stop and falls on his neck, nipping at the swollen veins, creating a trail so sexy that Aiden cannot seem to stop worship them, “Aiden, uh, what–” he clears his throat, “What, <em>how </em>should we do that..?”</p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes.</p><p>“You want a drawing?” laughs Aiden, chuckling against Lambert's skin. “It's pretty simple: I don't know how much sex you had, Lamb, but if you do the same you did with the bardling it would be a good enough start for me.”</p><p>“So you'll... <em>take</em> it <em>in</em>?”</p><p>Understanding drowns in Aiden, and it's his time to roll his eyes. “Yes, yes, I'll take it in, I will make this grand sacrifice and I,” Aiden pushes Lambert down into the bed with the palm of his hand against a pectoral – Jaskier thinks that he has chosen with very little difficulty where to touch. “Will let you,” he continues, grinning from above him, “Fuck me,” he finishes, sitting more firmly on his lap, and Jaskier can imagine how Lambert's cock is now pressing against Aiden's arse – and Lambert's reaction is written clearly in his face. “<em>This time</em>.” he adds at last, his grin turning into a mischievous sneer – but not cruel, never cruel towards Lambert.</p><p>Lambert splutters, but then groans again and throws his head back when Aiden rolls his hips. Jaskier has the view of Aiden's back almost completely at him, and he notices scars he hasn't seen before, he notices the muscles pop out at every Aiden's movement, he notices his sweat fall down his spine in tiny droplets, the hard roundness of his arse. Blindly, one of his arms stretches towards the nightstand and grabs a vial of oil with a thin layer of dust collected on the cork, swinging it then in front of Lambert's eyes clouded in lust. “Want to do it or lil' me has to do all the work 'ere?”</p><p>“Shit, fuck,<em> fucking hell</em>.” Lambert pushes him off and Aiden falls graciously on the blankets, “I do it. Arse up.”</p><p>“Bossy.” Aiden comments, then takes off his underclothes and raises his legs until his thighs touch his chest and his cock leaks against his belly, his arse bare at the mercy of Lambert's eyes and fingers and – Jaskier hopes, but he doubts he'll do anything but fuck him right now – mouth, “I like it.”</p><p>Lambert damps his fingers with oil, abandoning then the vial on the bed next to him without care to close it. Jaskier also doesn't care about the oil staining the blankets, because he won't be sleeping there tonight. Not tonight yet.</p><p>Jaskier covers his lips, trying to smother the whimper threatening to escape from it, as he looks with wide eyes Lambert's fingers buried into Aiden, first slowly, then more frenetic as Aiden's moans become more bold and louder. Aiden's hands grip his own thighs, pulling them even higher, opening them even wider, and Lambert bites his long legs from his calves to his kneecaps then backwards. His breath is heavier, he huffs and frees his cock with the unoccupied hand as he takes the three fingers out of Aiden's hole with a too quick gesture that leaves Aiden trembling with the sudden emptiness, before lining against his gaping hole.</p><p>Jaskier almost says that he wanted to see more, to see some more petting, a blowjob, a mouth flushed against an arse, tongues on skins, more squelching sounds – but tonight he's not part of the fuck so he mustn't have demands, he's just a spectator who's watching a thing that he probably shouldn't, but it would never have happened if not for his presence there.</p><p>Jaskier unfastens his breeches, giving a bit of relief to his aching cock but still without touching it. He wants to enjoy it for a bit longer, it doesn't want it to end with just a couple of strokes and a final, liberating groan. Lambert, though, doesn't seem of the same opinion – the ever impatient, he thinks fondly – because with his still dripping fingers he oils himself quickly but efficiently, then pushes inside Aiden and his muscles tense, his veins pop out on his forehead and neck for the effort not to just slam it all in one go. When his balls slap against the flushed skin of Aiden's buttocks, Lambert also leans in his thighs, joining Aiden's own fingers and bending him even more in half – his knees, Gods, his knees are grazing his jaw at Lambert's every thrust. Jaskier, feverishly aroused, reasons that he, a mere not young anymore human, could never bend so much without feeling his bones crackle, no matter how much experience he has.</p><p>“P–pretty.” stutters Lambert, and he sounds almost surprised while his eyes roam all over Aiden's naked, thrilling body under him. “Fucking <em>Gods</em>. Why didn't we do this before?” he huffs, a tear of sweat running from his forehead down his nose, then disappears into Aiden's chest hair when he leans his head against it.</p><p>“Because you are,” Aiden sighs and bats his eyes, kohl running down his cheeks, because Lambert doesn't slow down, no, his pace becomes erratic, chasing a pleasure so known and yet so foreign, “<em>Blind</em>, Wolfie.”</p><p>Lambert growls, his nose twitching against the glistening, scarred skin of the other, “The fuck you mea–<em>ngh</em>... Shit!”</p><p>Jaskier quivers, and finally he palms at his cock, feeling his own orgasm growing more and more closer even without a single stroke. He also closes his eyes, and behind his lids there are black and white spots that now Jaskier recognizes very well, and it's hard to breath, and he feels his cheeks suddenly damp with tears he doesn't know where they come from. He doesn't utter a word, he doesn't want the Witcher to stop just because Jaskier mind is blacking out once again, even when the thought of Geralt has been confined just in a corner of his attention, even if no one right now is bleeding out to death.</p><p>When his mind clears out, he notices his underclothes ruined with his own sperm, his shirt damp with sweat and his face wet with tears. He's a mess, as he's been for the past couple of months or so, but he doesn't care – Gods, he doesn't feel bad. He feels lightheaded, but not in a bad way, more in a relaxed way. Maybe, maybe he just had an orgasm so strong that he almost passed out. It's plausible – still, he used to have those kind of orgasms every day with Geralt, and this one... this one isn't one of them. Jaskier guesses that he needs to get used to them again.</p><p>Perhaps... perhaps he's finally healed. Perhaps this is the type of orgasm he's going to have from now on without Geralt, because he <em>finally </em>has no more thoughts of him – not quite true but he's getting there – and, and it's not so bad. It's good, returning to love himself.</p><p>Sweet Gods, it's <em>good</em>.</p><p>Unfortunately, he doesn't know what is happening between Aiden and Lambert right now, and sincerely, at the moment he doesn't care. It's their business, and he wants to just think at his own bliss for a little while, without worries, without heartaches, with... nothing. Just total blankness.</p><p>If in the morning after he wakes up between the two Witchers, he'll just smile and feel content and grateful for the blankness that doesn't by necessity mean he's alone, not caged in his mind, nor too free in his house.</p><p> </p><p>That arrangement happens a few more times, before something really changes between Lambert and Aiden. At first it's been awkward, because probably the two idiots haven't even talked about their feelings, as every fucking repressed Witchers do apparently – but touches that before were done with little thought are now assuming new meanings, and even if they seem to be kind of <em>scary</em>, Lambert still does those. It means something – or better, Jaskier knows from experience that small casuals things like a nose flick, or a grip on a shoulder, or gentle fingers pushing strands of hair out of the other's eyes, mean <em>everything </em>for a touch starved Witcher.</p><p>Jaskier misses those touches so much.</p><p>But he's so happy – despite the longing and the envy and the wanting to be loved like that again – that whatever it's going on with Lambert and Aiden is working, as the embarrassment gets shaded by other. Neither of them wants to talk about that with him, getting too flustered – Lambert – or changing immediately argument – Aiden – but Jaskier is pretty sure that, in his absence, they are starting to open up more one toward the other. And it's better like this, Jaskier doesn't want to risk the blooming of their relationship with his nosiness and prodding.</p><p>The sex keeps on being mindblowing to watch from afar – and how he likes to do it, he has to admit. He still doesn't feel like joining, for the lack of mood and for being already the third wheel, but he loves to see the two godsdamn good bodies tangled together in that lovemaking dance Jaskier knows too well and recognizes with just a look at the twinkle in their eyes as they stare at each other. Jaskier will never admit out loud how sickly in love they are while fucking their brains off, because he guesses that neither of them would take that statement well, despite its truthiness.</p><p>Something definitely changes when they start to have sex just the two of them, and Jaskier goes to his bed – the guest room, he always leaves his old bedroom to the Witchers – a bit lonely, but definitely satisfied and happy. Maybe Jaskier just needs love, even if it's not <em>his </em>love. He needs a proof that love can still live around him, and it can still warm his heart even if it leaves a melancholy in its trail.</p><p>With chamomile tea steaming inside the mug in his hands, Jaskier looks outside from the window in the kitchen, waiting for Lambert and Aiden to come back from hunting their dinner. The weather is getting colder, so he tightens a thin blanket around himself, enjoying the warmed porcelain heat his palms and fingers. Cold days mean more day passed inside the house, without being able to work out in the garden under the sun – it means that the leaves of the trees are going to turn yellowish, reddish and brownish before falling and dying on the ground. He knows that it's inevitable, that it's natural, that the trees are not really dead and when spring will come again, they will bloom again, but it still feels like... a waste of time, having spent countless hours to let the garden coming back to life just to see it die not even a month later.</p><p>“Tonight there's roasted rabbit!” proclaims Aiden as he enters through the front door with Lambert on tow, three dead hares in their hands. “Lost in thoughts? Don't try too hard, or your poor brain won't take the pressure.”</p><p>Lambert snorts and sits in a chair by the fire, starting to skin and disembowel the animals.</p><p>“I'll keep that in mind, darling” he sticks his tongue out, “I was thinking that I feel a bit melancholy today. Must be the weather.”</p><p>“You always feel melancholy, you're a fucking poet.” Lambert snorts again, without doing much apart keeping to work on their dinner.</p><p>He's right, Jaskier is a poet. Or was. Maybe it's time to return on <em>his </em>Path. “A song would help to raise the mood.” he drops those casual words, not quite knowing what those mean. He really would like to start singing and playing his lute again, but he doesn't know if he's able anymore. He looks at his fingers – there are still callouses, but they are a bit softer as they should be. Plucking strings at first would hurt, and it would hurt for a while. He grimaces a bit: if he starts to play, he would probably sound like a fucking novice.</p><p>“Yeah, it's a pity there is no bard here, uh?” Lambert comments as Aiden chuckles, the bastard.</p><p>Jaskier looks right at Aiden, and says, “It's been a while since I composed something. And I just know love songs. Maybe there isn't really a bard here, but just a close minded fool.”</p><p>Aiden opens his mouth as to say something obvious, with a bored expression, but then frowns and seems to be thinking better of it. He throws a glance at Lambert, too concentrated to notice his yellow stare, and looks conflicted.</p><p>“Are love songs okay for you?” Jaskier asks, probably guessing what's going on in Aiden's mind at the moment. Who would have thought the Witcher to be a secretly romantic? “I know plenty. Mostly are about Geralt, I admit it. Well, actually, even the nameless ones are about Geralt... I can't help it, he was my muse.” he adds, a bit defensibly.</p><p>He could compose something about Lambert and Aiden's love. He feels a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of using another – or others, in this case – in his songs. He feels like a cheater. But he... he maybe could try. With calm, when he's alone in his room, with a new journal in his hands and new words in his fingers.</p><p>“Ugh, I prefer something without his fucking name, thank you.” precises Lambert, pointing a bleeding dagger at him in a no threatening way.</p><p>Jaskier hums, and lowers his eyes. He looks again at his fingers, then sighs and walks away from the window, ignoring his slowly dying garden and, maybe, opening a new – an <em>old</em> – door for him that will help him take a step forward, as it did taking care of the garden, as it did cleaning the bedroom he shared with Geralt, as he did enjoying and not resenting the love that isn't his. “It can be arranged,” he says, and he gets closer to Aiden, and Aiden makes room for him on his legs so he can sit on his knee. Then, he starts tapping his fingers on the wooden table, creating a low rhythm that echoes in the silence of the kitchen, accompanied only by the sharpening noises of Lambert's dagger against fur.</p><p>Then, he starts singing. First with a voice a bit wavering, then more confidently as Aiden's fingers join his, when he catches the right rhythm. Lambert moves his head following it too, and none of them cares about the words flooding out of his mouth as much as his voice embellishing the moment and it's perfect like this. He's not singing of Geralt to Geralt even if the song is about him, he's just singing a causal song because he <em>feels like it</em>, after so long.</p><p>But while singing, he doesn't notice someone is walking towards his house if not when they knock at the door – but he should have, because Aiden has tensed next to him, his fingers are still against the wooden table, while Lambert has his lips twisted in a half threatening, half relieved sneer, the rabbits abandoned beside the fire.</p><p>“Who's there?” he asks at the two Witchers, because surely they have sensed someone approaching, and at this point they have already guessed who they are, considering their reactions. “Someone from town?”</p><p>“No.” says Lambert, raising from his stool and walking at the door, “It's Eskel.”</p><p>Jaskier jumps, gasping. “<em>Eskel</em>?”</p><p>It can't be Eskel, can it? Jaskier has tried so hard not to think about him, trying so hard not to feel abandoned by him – because of course, Geralt and Eskel share something precious, a bond born since they were children: how could he compare to that? Eskel will always be by Geralt's side, as it should be. That's why he can't, now, comprehend why he should be here. Is he come to shout at him? Has Geralt sent him to make sure Jaskier isn't here or to simply throw him out, before coming here with his sorceress? Melitele, it would break his stupid, weak heart <em>again</em>.</p><p>It's beating like a drum in his chest, his heart, as Lambert opens the door. He's sure that everyone present are hearing it alright.</p><p>When Eskel's gentle figure appear at the doorstep, Jaskier finally is brave enough to get closer. The face that welcomes him is as warm as he remember, and the smile greeting him when they lock eyes is as kind as always, no matter how much it pulls at his scars. Eskel reacts at his presence like Lambert's did, weeks priors, opening his arms wide and tilting his head, as if asking: <em>what are you waiting for</em>?</p><p>So, Jaskier doesn't wait. He runs as he ran towards Lambert, tripping in his own feet and throwing his arms around Eskel's broad shoulders, hugging him, tugging at his hair, sighing in relief. Eskel doesn't hate him, right? Eskel is permitting him to hug him, to show him affection, so it means that he still likes Jaskier, even if he's not Geralt's love anymore.</p><p>He does not notice how he buries his face against his neck, breathing in the scent that is so similar to Geralt. He raises from it like a man breathing in after being underwater for too long – and when he does, he finally sees who's waiting behind Eskel, in silence, watching the scene with a sad fondness that tugs at his heart, but nothing more.</p><p>It is a bit of an anticlimax seeing Geralt. When he still daydreamed about his return, he imagined himself falling on his knees, crying his eyes out of his sockets, probably passing out for the too many emotions catching him at the same moment – rage, ire, sadness, desperation, happiness. But none of that happens, now, if not a terrible confusion, and an equally terrible nothingness.</p><p>Geralt has his thin lips pursued. Jaskier knows what they mean: they mean that he's trying to think before acting. But his eyes are too wide, wider that Jaskier has probably ever seen on him, an expression so openly vulnerable that he's not even trying to hide.</p><p>Geralt has never hidden anything to him, but Jaskier has thought that things have changed now. He is the first to move, when Eskel steps aside, and he is the one to touch Jaskier – he touches his face, probably noticing the veiled dark circles under his eyes as his thumbs graze on them; then his shoulders, and now his big hand can take one in the sole palm, noticing how much he changed over the months, how much he's become ugly, and thin, like a corpse. Jaskier thinks that he's way better than he was before, he has found again the vanity it characterizes him so much, he eats way more, he's collecting fat again in his waist and let's not forget that he has just recovered after a bad fever, but he guesses that it's still a long way to go before returning back to how he was.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt calls his name, and it's impressive how little he cares. He has passed day and days firstly with Aiden and then with Lambert to find comfort into the similarities they share with Geralt, and now that he has the object of his desires Jaskier's mind is... blank. “Jask, I'm... Fuck, I'm sorry.” he says, voice gruff and a little broken, before hugging his so careful and slow as if scared to break him in pieces – even if it's probably too late, for him, to be afraid of that – kissing his forehead when their chests finally connect. “How I missed your singing voice.”</p><p>“Should I kill him?” Jaskier hears Lambert ask, but the sound is muffled by Geralt's arms around him.</p><p>“Nope,” answers Eskel with a cheery tone, “Maybe just a punch, but later, now let's leave them talk alone.”</p><p>Geralt leads him towards the stairs, and Jaskier follows in silence. He feels a bit scared to find out what words has Geralt in store for him, now that there is nothing worth to say that wasn't already plain and clear and settled back in Rinde. His fingers start to feel numb and cold again: is he blacking out? Is his mind losing contact with reality? He is aware, after all, that the lack of feelings is not a normal reaction for what's happening.</p><p>When they enter inside their old room, Geralt stops in his track, and Jaskier almost slams against his back when he doesn't notice. Looking up at him, Jaskier sees that his nostrils flared, his eyebrows knitted together. “You don't sleep here.” he asks.</p><p>“I sleep in the guest room. Lambert and Aiden sleep here.” Jaskier says. It's the first thing he has said to him after almost nine moons. If someone ever asked him before, he would have definitely bet that the first words he'd ever say to Geralt would have been words of love, or cries of love, or prayers of love. Funny how things never happens like in one's imagination.</p><p>Geralt doesn't respond at that, probably guessing the reason for himself. He, slowly, caring, leads Jaskier to the bed, letting him sit on it. Then, he settles on his knees in front of him, looking at him with his eyes still too wide, still to vulnerable. Desperate. “We need to talk, Jask. Please, hear me out.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, “Talk. I've never deprived you of speaking, so feel free to do it.”</p><p>“I...” Geralt clears his throat awkwardly. He is probably not used to Jaskier talking so coldly to him, but seriously, Jaskier isn't even doing it on purpose. “I was trying to explain... before you ran away. Gods, Jask, you are so thin.” his mouth trembles as he talks, “And it's all my fault.”</p><p>“It is not, Geralt.” Jaskier says, and it's not a lie. Jaskier has never given him the blame, if not unconsciously, if not out of rage and delusion. “I would never let you feel guilty for falling out of love.”</p><p>Geralt frowns again, panic clearly written on his handsome face. “What?” he murmurs, sounding incredulous, “I... no. Jaskier, you misunderstood. You get it all wrong! I was trying, in Rinde, to tell you, and you–”</p><p>“No, <em>you</em> ran after your sorceress. I just didn't want to stay there while you, with her... While I was so desperate for you!” Jaskier shouts, at last, because he can't help it. The ice gripping at his chest is melting, now, and the emotions are finally flooding and overwhelming him. He looks down at Geralt and he sees <em>Geralt</em>, the man he still loves despite everything, the man he misses so much even now that he's in front of him. “I hope that at least it was worth it, all I want is for you to be happy. I'm fine, I'm, I'm fine now. I am getting used to this life without you, I'm getting better. You see me thinner than I was now, but I'm actually really better, you don't have to feel guilty or responsible. I'm eating normally now, and I completely recovered from a bad fever, my panic attacks are diminished, I finally even provide for myself! And I'm fine! Trust me.” he blabs, not really comprehending what he is saying but all he wants is for Geralt to understand that– that what? That he is fine, he supposes. That he should live his life without the burden of Jaskier upon his soul.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt calls his name again, and now he feels them, the butterflies in his stomach that start to flutter their wings every time he does that. Nothing has changed, he was just... what, in shock? He feels the want creeping up his spine and arms, like a snake, and he has to bite his own tongue to restrain himself in doing something utterly foolish like throw his body at him and kiss him 'til the new summer begins. “Please, just, just hear me out, without interrupting me, alright? Can you do this for me?” he asks, gently, cradling his face between his warm, familiar palms.</p><p>Jaskier nods, “Of course, my love.” he says, without thinking, and when he registers what he actually has said, he has the impulse of slamming his head against the corner of the nightstand. How more pathetic can he be?</p><p>Geralt squeezes his eyes, as if hearing it physically hurt him. Jaskier hates himself a bit for this. Then he opens them again, while lashes fluttering around his amber eyes – and he doesn't take them off him again after that, “I didn't go to Yennefer to fuck her. I went to call her so she could explain what was going on, because I was as... as devastated as you were.” Jaskier opens his mouth to tell him that nothing needs explanation, but then he remembers what Geralt has asked of him, so he tightens his lips closed instead. “And when I came back and you were gone... Jaskier, I cannot live without you. I'm not... able to. I am not... as strong as you, I am not able to <em>breath</em> without your scent, I am not able to <em>sleep </em>without the sound of your heart under my ear. I am not even able to <em>want </em>to get used to your absence. The sole thought... kills me.”</p><p>“But it doesn't make sense.” Jaskier says. Geralt isn't lying, Jaskier can tell as much even without the witchery superpowers, on the contrary he is still wearing that trice damned soft expression that makes Jaskier weak in the knees. He rises his own hands to reach Geralt's resting on his face, and entwines his fingers with his – his skin is as rough as it's always been, smooth where the scars knit together, and it's so, so familiar. “You never came back to me, you must have known I was here, I had nowhere else to go. And, and you remember what I asked you that day? Before you ran to Yennefer?”</p><p>“I thought you didn't want to see me anymore, so I thought that the last place you would have come back was here. But I searched for you everywhere, and every time I couldn't find you, I grew more...” Geralt trails off, swallows, and his eyes flutter, “Eskel found me and told me you were here, and I felt like the... the most stupid man alive.”</p><p>So... so that's why Eskel wasn't with Lambert – not because he hated him, but because he went and brought Geralt to him. He's so grateful, Gods, he's so <em>grateful</em>. Jaskier smiles, “You are.”</p><p>Geralt's breath trembles, he buries his face in Jaskier's lap and inhales and exhales as he taught Jaskier to do whenever his sight tunneled, whenever his chest constricted in tight grip. Jaskier wishes to grab those silvery strands between his fingers, but he doesn't want to stop touching his hands at the same time, so he stays still. “And I remember, of course I remember. And of course the answer was – and <em>is</em> – that I still <em>love you</em>, that... that can't change, Jaskier. You are the reason I keep on living.”</p><p>“But you also love her?”</p><p>Geralt's shoulders tense, “It's... complicated.”</p><p>“Love is never really complicated. <em>We</em> make it complicated, with our problems, and our melodramatics, and our boundaries, and our labels. But the sentiment is as simple as every other emotion that exists, darling.” When Geralt doesn't utter a word, Jaskier sighs and says, “Geralt, you know how I am. It's fine if you love her, as long as you love me the same.”</p><p>“It doesn't seem fair.” Geralt mutters against the material of his trousers. “If this happened to you, I don't know if I... if it would have been fine.”</p><p>“Well, thankfully this happened to you, so no need to mull over.” Jaskier chuckles, feeling his eyes sting a bit. His hands, at last, leave Geralt's fingers and sink into his hair, trying to raise his head so to see his face again. “No reason to be worried about this scenario, because I have no interest – if not just in a totally sexual way – in anyone but you.”</p><p>Geralt grants it, lifting his head and locking eyes with him. “It's not fair.”</p><p>“I said that love is not complicated,” says Jaskier, “I never said that it's fair.”</p><p>Jaskier pushes Geralt, softly, so he can also fall into his knees in the floor and sit on his lap. He leans on Geralt, tugs his long hair. It's unclean, tangled, Geralt has probably not taken care of it during all this time – it was Jaskier, after all, that loved to comb it and clean it and passing all his hair product so it would shine and be smooth as silk. Then, he touches his face with the tip of his fingers, wiping the lack of sleep away from under his eyes; tracing the wrinkles and moles; the slightly crooked nose; the badly cut stubble covering his cheeks and chin; the thin line of his tightened mouth. His armor is the same of last time they see each other, but more worn, more knitted together where it tore. The form of his muscles is the same, but they jump almost imperceptibly as if they hurt, as if they strained too much.</p><p>Geralt is tired, he has the same tiredness draining him that has haunted Jaskier all this time.</p><p>“I have so much more to tell you, Jaskier.” Geralt says, touches his nose with his, softly and yet hesitating, “So much happened, and I want to tell you everything. I fucked things up even more in your absence, and I was so... lost. And now, now I...”</p><p>“Shh, love, it's okay.” Jaskier whispers, hovering his lips against his, but not quite touching, “There will be time for this, yeah? I also need time, Geralt, because I spent more than half the year knowing that you didn't love me anymore, and I was just <em>healing </em>from heartbreak, so now I need time to get used to it again. Not that it'll be long,” he laughs, and it sounds liberating, it sounds familiar and loving. “I missed you too much not to let you fuck me until next life.”</p><p>Geralt buries his face in Jaskier's neck and inhales. Then growls, lowly, “There is a... new, faint scent on you.”</p><p>“Mh, must be Aiden's.”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt hums, and Gods, how he missed the quiet noises he makes. “I guess that's what I deserve, after what I've done.”</p><p>“This isn't about what you deserve or not. I didn't have sex with Aiden to spite you – Lambert, though, he offered himself just for that reason, but I refused – I did it to... get over you. I failed, obviously. Aiden's always said that it was my fucked up coping mechanism. I think that it was just because he smelled awful, so much like the Path. He reminded me of us when we were walking together the Path.”</p><p>Geralt's arms tighten around his waist, pulling him closer to him, “I'm sorry.”</p><p>“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jaskier smiles, and caresses his hair, uncaring of the dirt caught in its strands, “But if it will make you feel better, I forgive you, my love.” then, he grimaces, “Actually, I am sorry, too, for running away like a thief. I feel myself quite defensible, because of course the circumstances weren't on my favour and all I wanted was to get the fuck out of there, before <em>you</em> would have kicked me out of your life with words as well as actions, but,” he shrugs, “If I stayed as you asked, maybe we would have had this conversation sooner. And we would have had our hearts less broken.”</p><p>“Or I would have fucked up everything more, letting Yennefer talk in my place.”</p><p>Jaskier twists his lips, “Truth be known, I would have been terribly <em>mad</em>. I wanted to hear reassurances from <em>you</em>, not her. She is nothing for me. But I guess... well, she will be something, for now on, even if I have totally no idea of what. I won't forbid you to be with her, that's for sure.”</p><p>“I'll make things right. I... I just have to take care of... <em>things</em>... but I won't go anywhere.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn't want to fuck, now, even if the longing and the wanting is there and overwhelming him, clouding his mind with desire. But the wish to just <em>feel</em> Geralt close to him, after all this time, hear his gruff voice and slow heartbeat is more pressing than whatever inhibitions he may have. But he kisses him nonetheless, because he missed so much the taste of him, the sensation of his tongue caressing his palate, the feeling of his teeth biting lightly his lips. He cups his face and keeps on giving him kisses, more and more. He loves him, Melietele helps him how much he does and right in this instant he doesn't even know <em>how </em>he has even thought of getting over him, of living this life in this house – the house that harvests so many memories, that gives a home to so many ghosts – without him.</p><p>Now, it seems all an impossible thing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>say hi to me on my tumblr! <a href="https://geraltdirivia.tumblr.com/">@geraltdirivia</a><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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